#for once in death he would have found peace��only for that to be taken from him too.

[bluemerakis]

────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ───

❝ this one’s on me ❞

─ ۶ৎ ─

pairing ୨୧ dean winchester x fem .ᐟ reader

warnings .ᐟ s4 .ᐟ spoilers, cussing, dean’s really just suffering omg, and he’s also like, secretly smitten over reader; small age gap, a slow-burn build up to car sex, grinding, nip sucking, oral f receiving (he’s such a tentative munch pls), unprotected p in v, fluff. lmk if I forgot any :))

synopsis — dean’s physically free of hell, but he finds that his own demons have never really left him. having already made his fair share of bad decisions, he figures that it couldn’t hurt to make one more—the pursuit of you.

word count ~ 10.5k (i’m done apologising y’all know how carried away i get 🤟)

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Rowdy occupants teetered throughout the local bar, their cheers and protests slurred by this evening’s two-for-one special on all drinks. The bar was lively enough on most nights, but always in a manner sophisticated enough for Dean to enjoy a glass or two in comfort. Now, the space had become a raging fest of body against body, and the music was so loud that he could feel the ringing of his ears pressing all the way into the back of his eyes. The abrupt change in atmosphere felt personal, like it’d been specially planned to further tug at Dean’s gradual undoing.

His elbows were propped onto the bar top before him, fingers restlessly tapping at the sweaty, glass keep of his beer. All around him, barmaids wove frisky lines to tend to drunken groups seated along either side of him. Occasionally, one of the girls would attempt to cast their hook into him with an overzealous offer to top up his drink, and a candid nibble of their glossed lips, but he’d nicked their lines at the ready.

Any other night, he would’ve jumped at the opportunity to show those gorgeous barmaids a time to remember, but as of now, he had other company to entertain—the unwanted and persistent voices in his head. Sounded insane, huh? Quite frankly, he was starting to feel the part. It was making him a bit of a downer, and that wasn’t much his style with the ladies.

Dean’s head lolled between his hunched shoulders, where he glimpsed his lonely reflection in the bubbling amber of his drink. He realised he must’ve stood apart from the bar’s bustling and cheerful atmosphere like a sore thumb, sat in broody silence as he indulged his second beer with a hefty frown on his brows.

He could have scoffed at the idea of being alone. If only onlookers had the ability to peer into the depths of his tainted mind, then they’d know that he was anything but alone.

True silence was a luxury Dean had long since been robbed of. It was a concept that held hands with peace, but there was no peace to be found in a soul as wretched as his. He didn’t deserve it—not after everything he’s done.

Those years he’d spent wrapped up in hell had remade his psyche in all the worst ways. And even now, as he walked amongst the living once again, it felt as though a fraction of the underworld had carried through and engraved itself in his very DNA.

He felt tainted by its touch—heard the way it mocked him with the voices of all the strangers he’d tortured to spare himself the same turmoil. It looped in his mind like a sadistic ear worm. Every hour, every minute, every damn second of the day. And to top the icing on the screw you cake? He had no idea how to make them shut the hell up.

It hadn’t always been that way, though. The first time it happened had been a rough week or so after his return. He’d taken on a rather grim job with his brother—a chain of victims that had been tortured to the death by a rogue demon. Dean had let out a wry scoff when Sam had first told him the details. He had a hunch on what that was about.

The demons hadn’t had any say in Dean’s release from hell. If it were up to them, they’d have kept him in a glass display for all eternity. When Cas had pulled him from the fiery depths, the angel had just about pissed off every single demon down there. They knew they couldn’t lay hands on Dean and drag him right back down to his eternal misery, so they’d taken to doing what they did best—causing havoc. And they’d found just the way to make it personal.

Each victim the brothers had found had been tortured in a different way—methods that were all too familiar to Dean. Methods that he’d invented. He’d had years to become creative. Each sighting had mortified him, and he’d had to swallow several times to suppress the bile adamantly reaching up to strangle his airways. What hurt him the most, though, was having to put on a detached facade for Sammy. His brother had no idea what Dean had been through down there. . . what he’d done down there—and why should he? He’d be more than eager to offer up a steaming fest of pity and guilt if he knew the truth, but Dean didn’t deserve any of that. It was all his own doing. His choice.

Cas might’ve liberated him from his physical hell, but he’d never truly been liberated from anything. Most of the suffering had always come from within, anyways.

They’d never found the demon responsible for the murders. It almost made Dean believe that he’d reverted back to his primal nature and killed all of those people himself. He’s hurt people before, so what was stopping him now, right? Maybe he’d done it in his sleep. Maybe, as soon as he’d let his head hit the pillow and dull his battered mind into a much needed deep sleep, all the worst fragments of his subconscious would pull together into some twisted alter ego that came to kill at his unspoken will.

Had Cas freed an innocent that day, or had he just unleashed another, wretched demon into the world? Boy, if it was the latter, Lilith surely had nothin’ on him.

The voices had started ever since that disturbing case, and they were yet to leave him alone.

It’s almost as if that cheap, goddamn knockoff on the real events of his life had been last switch that needed flipping to tune his mind into hell’s channels. Now, he heard them all—the voices—at every frequency and at every volume. And it didn’t matter how hard he cranked up Baby’s radio, their agonising pleas would always pull through in a haunting backtrack. One time, while he and Sam had been on the road, the voices had grown so loud that it made his eardrums feel as though they’d implode. It had hurt like a bitch, pushing him to the brink so that he’d lose control of the wheel and swerve into oncoming traffic. Thankfully, dear ol’ Sammy had been quick enough to grab ahold of the wheel and steer them clear of the looming truck they were en route toward.

The truck’s bellowing hooter had set him straight again as it whipped past the rear, almost as though it were the stern chiding needed to pipe those asshole voices right back down. His brother, bless his soul, had offered to drive them for the rest of the day, quiet concern alight on his features. But Dean had declined almost instantly. Sam hadn’t pushed to know what had overcome his older brother in that very moment; he’d known enough to pin it onto the aftermath of hell.

For the rest of that day, the younger brother had said nothing about it, but he did cast a few, fleeting glances with those damned puppy eyes of his. Dean pretended not to notice. Furthermore, he’d chosen to forget that that instance had ever happened. Fake it til y’make it, right? He didn’t need to look worried—didn’t need to make Sammy worry.

How his brother had grown up unmarred by Dean’s personal shit was beyond him—but he was thankful for it. And he’d continue to withhold that burden from his brother for as long as he could. This hell business? It was his alone to bear. Sammy needed no part in his suffering, and Dean doubted his brother could do much about it, anyway.

Man, the younger Winchester could do no wrong. It almost sickened Dean to know that they shared the same blood. He supposed it created a balance in nature, like how a coin had two sides—one lucky, and the other anything but. It wasn’t hard to know which side was his. Wasn’t much fair, but which aspect of his life had ever been? No matter. For Sammy, he’d keep on flippin’ that damn weighted coin if it meant that he could keep his brother safe.

Dean shifted atop the uncomfortable bar seat and sniffed away his restless thoughts, bringing the thawed beer to his lips. His nose dipped into the glass as he downed an eager gulp, the lukewarm beverage engulfing his tongue with a warmth he would’ve rather claimed from a skimpy barmaid. But alas, he’d made himself the promise to keep any and all contestants from playing this whirlwind of a game that was anything remotely related to his life.

Was this how celibate priests felt? ‘Cause man, it sucked. Not that they’d know the feeling of that, either.

He lowered the partially emptied drink back onto the bar top with a bitter scoff, eyes downturned to where he twirled the glass base within the ring of moisture it had bled onto the wood.

“Something funny, or have you just finally gone insane? Called it, by the way.”

Now that was the last voice Dean had expected to hear tonight. And in a bar, of all places—somewhere your holier than thou self had once sworn to never set food in outside of hunts. Granted, you were probably just being dramatic, but the thought still amused him.

He needn’t turn much to witness your figure. You slunk into perfect view as you took up a seat beside him. “Fancy seein’ you here,” he greeted through a lazy half-smirk, lifting his glass in a one-sided cheer.

You shot his drink a pitiful glance before returning his curious stare with an amused smile. “And I’m sure the bar hates to see you coming,” you retorted lightly, averting your gaze as you lifted your hand to wave over the bartender. “Whiskey, neat, thank you,” you said sweetly once the man had approached.

Dean risked a quick sweep of your figure—adorned with a dress so simple and casual, it shouldn’t have beckoned for his attention the way that it did. But honestly, this was one of very few times he’d seen you in anything other than your hunting or roleplay attire. And to be a little more honest, it was a view he could get used to watching.

Your head swivelled to face him for a brief second, which was enough to pluck his eyes away from what could be considered leering, if he’d made a point to stare any longer. And he was oddly tempted. But you quickly turned to face the bartender once more, initiating friendly chatter while he poured your drink with an extra chirp to his tone. You tended to have that effect on people, making bonds both meaningful and meaningless wherever you trod. Shit, look at the way you’d so easily strolled into both Sammy and his life. He wasn’t one to let strangers linger around, but for you, he’d made some sort of exception.

Dean lowered his head to study his glass once more. It was a view he’d long since grown tired of, but it was for the best. He shouldn’t be looking at you like that, anyway. You were Sammy’s friend first, and with that connection came the unspoken obligation of keeping his destructive hands off of you.

Sam had met you all the way back college. You weren’t the brand of friendship Dean would’ve expected his former anti-hunting brother to delve into—being a hunter and all—but that fact had only been disclosed after an unfortunate day of you being caught in the crossfire of one of their cases. It was a day Dean had thought you done for, for sure, but then you’d gone and surprised the both of them with your hunter’s wit, immobilising the threat like it’d been nothing of a challenge.

Dean would never admit it to your face, but you were a whole lot more knowledgeable than himself and Sam combined—and that’s considering that his brother is a colossal nerd before anything else. Since then, you’d stuck around, always helping Sammy with the nit-picky bookworm bullshit that Dean had never had much desire to do. He’d thank God himself for the lucky find that was you, if the big man in the sky really existed to begin with. Even after having met the angels, who were by no means impressive (save the girth of their dick nature), he couldn’t be convinced that there was a God who’d sent them here.

His attention strayed back to you as you reached across the bar top with a cash tip in clutch, which the bartender drank in with slightly flustered eyes before refusing it politely. Dean found himself huffing softly at the sight of it—not long after he’d come in, he’d seen that same bartender lay a fit on one of the occupants who’d refused him a tip after wrapping up the bill. He could’ve guessed that the demanding air you brought to the place had something to do with it. You didn’t mean to do it—demand things your way—it was just a string of events that always managed to fall into place whenever you showed up.

It was a quiet allure you’d always had to you. Dean could call you a good-luck charm for it. It made him want to hold onto you, just a little tighter, but he’d be selfish to do it. And whatever found it’s way into his grasp always seemed to shatter.

You reached for your glass almost shyly, as though you felt some slither of guilt for not being able to compensate the bartender’s effort, before turning to face Dean more directly. You tilted your head in the slightest manner, free hand brought up to cradle your cheek in poise as you gazed at him. “What did you mean by that, anyway?”

He frowned lightly. “What did I mean by what?”

“Fancy seein’ you here,” you mocked in a tone far too deep. A shameless grin spread your lips before you lifted your glass to take a sip—your eyes holding a glint he couldn’t quite decipher. And he didn’t try to linger on your stare for long enough to find out. There was some pull to it—like a getting caught in the sea’s rip current, and it made him feel something he couldn’t quite place. Or wouldn’t place, for the sake of keeping things unattached.

He glanced off to the side with a simple shrug. “Nah, I mean, you’re always off chasin’ some fairytale with Sammy. Just figured the two o’ya woulda found a fresh tail to nip by now,” he said nonchalantly, glass brought to his lips as he took a tense swig that finally emptied his glass.

“Well, yeah, but it’s after hours now. And I need a break, just like you,” you laughed. “Besides, I think you of all people could take the biggest break from chasing anything for the time being—which I’m glad to see you doing, by the way.”

He offered a simple nod of acknowledgment before lowering his glass and swirling the beer around his tongue, racking his tired brain for the next thing to say. It irked him a bit. Part of his charm was that chatting it up with the ladies always came easy. Who the hell would be be without it? But something about tonight—about you—had him feeling like a gawking numb-nut with a desperate need for a wingman.

He swallowed his sip and cleared his throat somewhat self-consciously, finally mustering up the courage to face you again. You had your fingers wrapped around your glass now, your eyes narrowed in eager focus and the corners of your lips slightly upturned—all while you sat waiting for him in patient silence. A silence that had no reason to make him feel. . . anxious, but it did. Were you doing it on purpose? Did you even know what you were doing?

Get it together, man, you’re blowin’ it, he said silently. You always do. Where do you think this’ll go? Nowhere. It’ll all crash and burn. Burn. Burn, the voices taunted. They’d become far too comfortable in his head, and now they had no shame popping up during his any and every conversation. Whenever the hell they pleased.

Mouthy bastards.

He ignored their jeering and settled for poking at the past, hoping it would invite you to carry the conversation he was so clearly dropping. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I seem to remember you sayin’ somethin’ ‘bout how bars are home to sad men and madly horny men. So, that begs my earlier surprise that the Judgemental Judy herself showed up at the weepin’ whorehouse,” he said with a light chuckle.

You seemed more than happy to perk up at his teasing, a sight that made him ease off the clutch on his glass. “Well, maybe—just maybe, I have the guilty pleasure of making fun of sad sobs like you afterhours. I mean, the job gets so dull sometimes, you’ll forgive a girl for having a stupidly fun hobby.”

Dean narrowed his eyes slightly. “You callin’ me a loser?” He asked through a grin.

Your shoulders lifted in the most dramatised shrug you could’ve possibly mustered. “Dunno, Dean,” you sighed. “Are you?”

He shook his head through a weak grin—not as a response to your question, but at the way you always found it in yourself to tease him with thinly veiled insults. He could’ve gotten mad over it, but it had become something like a tradition between the two of you—the very soul of your friendship. Now, he’d let you compare him to every depicted loser in the literature of insults if it could have you both sharing a hearty laugh by the end of it. If it would buy him a second longer of your presence.

You can’t have her. Not yours. She’ll break if you touch her, the voices pressed on. He never could place any of them—not to a face, not even to a name. But he must’ve known them, must’ve met them face to face when they’d been strung up for a beating by a weapon of his choice. The voices were right, too. Dean could tell himself he was a blacksmith, that he’d have the power to handle you in a way that would only make you malleable without breaking. But at the end of the day, he always managed a slip up. He knew he’d swing a little too hard, or bend you a little too far, perhaps even just hold you with a little too much force.

He’d break you the way he’d broken everything else. The way he’d broken himself.

“Are you okay?” Your slightly concerned voice broke into the chasm of his torment, causing him to raise his brows with a growing awareness.

“Yeah, no, I’m all right,” he attempted to say casually, coaxing forward a smile to reinforce his statement. But you didn’t look convinced—and why would you be? You knew him better than that. If anything, you might’ve been the one person who knew him better than Sammy. Not because he’d necessarily allowed it, but because you were scarily observant. He didn’t like how vulnerable that made him feel, but he couldn’t deny the facts, either. And he’d rather be faced with the hard truths than entertain myths forged for his own comfort.

“Come on,” you sighed all-knowingly before your leg crossed over the other, your whiskey pushed aside as you leaned yourself in a little closer to him. “What’s wrong, Dean?” He held his breath at the sudden closeness, but he wasn’t fast enough to miss the sweet caress of your perfume. It wafted beneath his nose like a taunt, and it fuelled the voices in his head even further.

Run away now, Dean. Save her. You’re doomed. Don’t doom her to the same fate. Don’t be selfish. Those words bit at his chest. Shut the hell up, he seethed silently, but they’d never listened before, and they wouldn’t listen now. You can’t shut out the truth, one sniped back.

He turned his head to the side. “Nothin’s wrong. Been a long day, that’s all. Sammy’s been wearin’ me down with all the hell crap. I just need a damn break.”

“I think that’s what you call brotherly concern,” you said, inching forward in your seat so that you nudged at the corner of his vision. “Is it so bad having somebody check up on you from time to time? Can’t do everything on your own, Dean, even if you like to think so.”

Dean released his glass and pushed it away from him, wringing his fingers out before he began to play with his ring. How could he tell you—tell anybody that this was something he could only do on his own? There wasn’t a single thing you or Sammy could do. It wasn’t the sort of thing that the books you skimmed through for hunts had an answer to. Traumatised man struggles to confront his tainted past. Now that’s a book that might’ve come in handy. But he wasn’t about to take a stroll through the local library’s self-help section, and reading it would only feel slightly validating if it’d been assigned by somebody with the degree to back the premise.

Besides, even if he’d been willing to talk to somebody who could help him, he’d surely be given a one-way ticket to the looney bin after the first session. Which wacko got to spew tales about the voices in their head without waking up between four padded walls the next day?

Dean cleared his throat dismissively. “Hey, uh, how’d you get here, anyway? Sammy drop you off?” He asked, eyes still glued to his fiddling fingers before he lifted his head to try and scout out the bartender. He could use another drink to drown the nerves he felt lingering within, and hopefully also drown out the voices while he was at it. You know, kill two birds with one stone and all that.

“Took a cab,” you answered hastily—a clear indication that you had no intention of entertaining his bullshit small talk. “I notice things, you know?” You added more earnestly, something that told him he wasn’t getting out of this one so easily.

Oh, trust me, I know, he remarked silently. He could’ve said the same about himself, especially when it came to you.

For instance, he noticed the way you’d never been a big drinker—how you’d only order something whenever he did. Obligatory pressure? Maybe, but he also noticed the way you always ordered the same whiskey. It was a whiskey he’d chosen for you the first time you’d gone to a bar together, and it was the same one you currently nurtured so gently between your fingers.

He noticed that you tended to care from a distance that didn’t feel suffocating, like making him that piping hot cup of coffee in the mornings he’d be too tired to pluck himself from the sheets, or all the times he’d gone days without eating and then woke up to a breakfast you’d prepped and plated at his bedside table. Hell, even all the times he’d left the motel in a scramble and forgotten essential equipment or some personal belonging, and you’d been right by his side, calm as a cucumber while you procured the items from your backpack.

Even now, you’d come all the way out here to keep him the company he’d never asked for, but that you must’ve known he needed. It was slightly more transparent than the rest of your previous acts of care, but he didn’t mind it, especially because you never tended to hassle him about his problems the way Sammy did. Up until now, at least. It was the little things like that that defined you in his eyes, things he’d come to admire about you.

Honestly, when it came to you, Dean couldn’t do anything but notice. You gave him the sort of impression that there was nothing you couldn’t try and fix. But she can’t fix you, a voice barked at him. You can’t be fixed.

Oh, piss off, you ass-probing sons o’ bitches, he spat internally. I’m not tryna get fixed. He wasn’t naive.

He shifted slightly in his seat as he grew more desperate for a numbing release, his eyes searching the bar frantically. But the bartender seemed to have disappeared entirely, and he gave a barely audible huff at tonight’s rigged luck. There goes the fuckin’ rescue. If he had to endure whatever mushy heart-to-heart was about to come next, he’d rather have done with some more alcohol to cull the consequences.

Almost as though you’d read his mind, the glass you’d been savouring was pushed in his direction. He glanced at you with slightly widened eyes, then gave a tiny dip of his chin.

“Thanks, but I prefer mine on the rocks,” he said thickly. Nothin’ like an icy gulp to remind me where the hell I am. That’s right, Hell. You’ll be back there in no time.

“Oh, I know, but if we’re gonna have this conversation—and we both know we will, you’re gonna need something stronger.” You nudged your glass another inch in his direction, modelling a clear-cut expression that told him not to argue any further. “Take it. This one’s on me,” you added with a cheeky smile. It was on you, only, it hadn’t cost you a dime.

Dean watched you for a few seconds longer, his tongue poking through to drag along his lower lip in silent debate. She’s not going to stop. She’s going to find out who you are. She’ll leave you. Just like everybody else. You’ll be alone. All alone. Alone. Again.

Neither of you moved to claim the drink—you out of protest, and him out of something far darker. All you did was cross your arms onto the countertop as you shared his silence, watching him through those calculating eyes of yours that made him feel a little too seen. Just what was going on inside of your head?

“All right,” he relented, slowly reaching across to clutch the glass. He brought it toward himself before lifting it to you in good gesture. “Cheers,” he said, then with a pause, his head tilted in silent consideration. “Again,” he added wryly.

You gave a tiny smile of victory, and the sight made his heart skip a beat. He immediately dropped his attention to the drink, where he brought it in for an eager drain. But his hand hesitated midway when he spotted the evidence of where your lips had settled for its first sip—the coloured print of your kiss overlapping the rim he’d planned to taste just seconds before.

“What, a little lipstick scare you?” He glanced up in time to see your eyes lifting from the same print on the glass rim, only to fix him with a slightly daring grin.

“Nah,” he answered almost too eagerly. He could’ve cursed himself for acting like a rattled school boy. He lifted the glass to his lips and took a long, hearty gulp of the whiskey. It seared every inch of his insides for the entire trip down to his stomach, but the burn was something different and oddly welcoming. With a smack of his lips and a sigh of relief, he set the remainder of the drink down and flashed you a content smile.

Suddenly, you were leaning toward him, your hand reaching for his face. The sight made his heart race, and all he could do was lean back an inch in his seat, as though you had a case of cooties he was trying to avoid. “Hey, uh—woah,” he laughed nervously, and then he didn’t make any sound at all. Your thumb was pressed against his lips, but it didn’t hover for long before it did a brisk swipe and your arm retreated back to your side.

“Lipstick smudge,” you told him innocently, but he caught that delighted look on your face, and he knew then that you were perfectly aware of the effect you seemed to have over him.

Dean’s head buckled to conceal the heat in his cheeks—hoping that it hadn’t reached your attention the way everything you did reached his. “Yeah, well, at least buy a guy a drink first,” he chuckled hoarsely.

“Technically, I already did.”

He gave a series of minuscule nods that depicted his defeat. “Touché.” Technically, you hadn’t bought anything—you’d gotten a freebie. But he supposed it was the sentiment that counted.

“Anyways, as I was saying,” you continued your earlier agenda. “I notice things, Dean.”

She’s going to find out exactly who you are.

“Oh, yeah?” He muttered half-heartedly, the heat in his cheeks vanishing only to be replaced by a feeling of dread. His chin perked up when he caught sight of the bartender creeping into the corner of his eye. There you are, ya prick. He lifted his hand to wave the man over, before he finally turned to face you. “Like what?”

He knew exactly what, and so did you. Where to begin was the real question.

Luckily, the bartender appeared just in time to offer a preparatory interlude, which he gratefully seized at the throat. Turning to the man, he leaned onto the counter. “Hey, man, could you fix the gal over here with a. . .” He trailed off with a questioning glance in your direction.

“I’m good, thanks,” you refused politely, but Dean could make out a hint of impatience peering through.

He cocked his head slightly. “Suit y’self,” he murmured, then faced the bartender again to order himself another round to down after he finished the whiskey—drown your sorrows, or whatever it is they say. But your hand reached into his space with far more sense than him, silencing his impulse before his lips could even split to give the order.

“He’s good, too,” you told the drinks master, and the man glanced between the both of you before settling on you with a knowing smile and taking his leave.

Dean turned to you with a slight pout and a ruffled frown. “Man, seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously,” you retorted bluntly, hand retracting back into your own vicinity. “I’m not carrying your drunk ass out of here. And neither is Sam,” you added when Dean attempted to argue his brother onto his case.

“Yeah, fine, whatever,” he mumbled, reaching for the singular, remaining drink he was apparently being limited to for the rest of tonight. But he didn’t take another sip just yet. Instead, he used the glass as more of a coping device, his fingers wrung tightly around its fragile body. And he couldn’t look at you while he waited for you to say whatever it is you had to say; he wasn’t strong enough to confront that particular Pandora’s box head on.

“You haven’t been okay for a while now,” you began. His teeth reached to bite the already-raw skin of his cheek. “And I know that it’s because of. . . you know—” he did, “—the things you’ve been through during your time in Hell. I mean, I can’t imag—”

Dean already knew the ending of that sentence before you finished it, and all the spite he’d garnered within drove him to face you with unintentional hostility. “No, you can’t,” he snapped gruffly, but he came to regret it shortly after seeing the hurt creep into your expression. With a sigh, he turned away from your crippling stare, his head shaking lightly in defeat. “This is why I don’t wanna talk about it. . . you and Sammy, you can’t understand what I’ve been through down there—what I had to do down there.” Go on, tell her. Tell her about the monsters in hell. Tell her about the biggest monster of them all.

“You still need to talk about it, Dean,” you urged gently. He noted how soft your tone was, almost as though you were afraid to push him too hard, whether it be with your choice of words, or with a single, harsh pitch in your voice. “If not to me, then to Sam, at least. I mean, he’s your brother, I’m sure he understands most things that other people wouldn’t.”

“Nah. . .” Dean murmured, his voice trailing off as he picked at his battered brain. He brought the whiskey to his lips and took a sip, savouring the burn in his chest. He hovered the glass in the air. “Sammy. . . he can’t help me with this. He shouldn’t have to, anyway. I’m the big bro, I gotta keep my head on for ‘im, y’know?” He glanced at you finally, and he didn’t realise how shattered he must’ve looked until he saw heartbreak soften your eyes.

His attention flickered down to where your crossed arms faltered, your hand briefly reaching forward as though you’d wanted to offer some slither of physical reassurance, but something else had kept you from engaging. He wished it hadn’t.

“Well,” you murmured, that same hand rubbing tender patterns along your forearm. “You don’t have to keep your head on for me.” Dean glanced up at you in surprise. “You’d be stupid to try, anyway. You’re not fooling me, Dean.” You gave a light laugh of defeat. “You’re not even fooling Sam. But the difference is that you don’t have to share that burden with him if you don’t want to. . . but you can share it with me.”

Could he, really? He couldn’t help but feel as though once he did open up to you, you’d realise the true magnitude of his shit. Only then, you wouldn’t be able to back out. You were too kind for that sort of rejection. But you’d both become miserable, and he didn’t think he could do that to you of all people.

With a slight jerk of his chin, he said, “‘fraid I can’t,” and gulped down the last of his drink to flush away the guilt of the mere sound. He hissed through gritted teeth as he placed the glass down with a bang, something that caused a few loiterers to glance his way, but he ignored them as surely as he’d been doing this entire night. “We should get back to the Motel. Bet Sammy’s startin’ to wonder if he should give me a call and chew me out over missin’ your curfew.”

“Dean—” you started, but he stopped listening.

He reached into his jacket pocket and plucked out his wallet, fingers prying the worn leather to slip out a hefty note. He folded and plopped it onto the countertop, his chin dipping in a brief thanks to the bartender who’d begun to saunter over and claim the bill. “Thanks, man,” he murmured, rising from his seat as he buried his wallet once more.

When he did finally make eye contact with you again, you had this sullen look to your features, but he tried not to show the way it made him feel. Feeling guilty? Like a douche? A prick undeserving of her time? After she came out all this way to speak to you. Tsk, the voices sneered.

Piss right off to hell. You first.

“Come on.” Dean jerked his chin at you, averting his gaze almost immediately when he saw your eyes narrow. He half expected you to start arguing, or to continue sitting there in a determined protest, but much to his relief, you rose up before him in a nerve-wrecking silence.

He glanced back at you, noting the light shake of your head before you let slip a hopeless scoff. Before he had a chance to prompt you further, you pivoted on your heels and whipped off into the busy bodies suffocating the bar. Behind you, your perfume lingered like a tantalising trail of candy, one that he knew he’d have no return from if he followed. But he did, anyway—the same way Hansel did Gretel because something about you had always felt like the home he’d never had. Even if he might burn it all down eventually.

He kept you in his sight all the way until the bar’s entrance, where you both eventually slipped out into the cool, unwelcoming air of the night. Dean drew up beside your hovering figure, his hand brought up to cradle your back and guide you to where he’d parked the Impala. He tried to catch your eye to ask whether you’d like his jacket because he felt your faint trembling beneath his hand, but you seemed to stop noticing he existed. Maybe that was for the best.

When you reached the passenger’s side of the car, Dean released you to reach for the handle. It clicked open, and he widened the door with an usher for you to climb inside. But all you did was stand there, tussles of your hair carried in hypnotising whisks by the night’s nipping breeze. He caught the scent of your shampoo, the same one he often found himself breathing in too deeply whenever he’d man the shower after you. And he could still remember it’s name—some limited edition crap he’d forced himself to memorise so that he could find another bottle like it and gift it to you on your next birthday. You’d been complaining for a good month that your current one was running dry.

He didn’t much like the idea of gift-giving, it wasn’t exactly his forte. But he knew the way you and Sammy both lit up at the mere thought of it. Besides, he’d be rude not to return the favour after having received gifts for his birthday from the both of you. Who are you fooling, boy? The best gift you could give her is to get out of her life. Don’t bother playing pretend with anything else.

You finally turned to face him, which instantly halted any and all thoughts he’d slowly been drowning in. There was some new resolve furnishing your features—brows furrowed, lips slightly parted and nostrils flaring with the weight of your own thoughts. But before Dean could ask the first thing about it, your hands came to wrap around his jaw, your lips pressing against his in a firm kiss.

Your lips were so warm against his, so soft that he could’ve fallen deeper into their padding. And he wanted to, so desperate for their welcome that he had to bring his hands up in a gentle bracket of your neck to keep himself from falling prey to his deepest desires. He pulled his lips from yours almost regretfully, keenly aware of your lingering warmth. There was so much emotion brimming in your eyes as you gazed up at him, but he saw uncertainty glare the loudest. He wished he could’ve said something—done something to displace it, but he had to remember where his priorities lay. In keeping you safe. Away from everything that was him.

“We can’t,” he murmured softly.

“Why not, Dean?” You answered with equal volume. He felt your thumb stroke across his stubble.

His lower lip fell loose with a heavy sigh, his head buckling in your hold. “We just can’t,” he repeated.

He waited for a reply, for any sound that echoed your frustrated with him, but you said nothing as your hands fell away from his jaw. He was forced to release his hold on you when you backed away from him and ducked into the salvation of the car’s privacy, his hands collapsing to his side in regret. He lifted his head to the sky with a brief breath of strength before he reached to shut the Impala’s door and tensely made his way around the fore. When he slipped into the driver’s seat, you’d already taken to the view of your window, hand cupping your cheek as you stared at anything that wasn’t Dean.

Fair enough.

He got Baby up and running, carefully picking his way out of the bar’s crowded lot before they hit the road winding toward their motel. The drive’s scenery was quiet, a stark contrast to the earlier atmosphere, and it made the air between yourself and Dean a whole lot tenser. There weren’t many cars, or people, found wandering by at any point of the trip, so it truly felt like the two of you had been locked alone in a room to confront the unspoken elephant. But he wasn’t so eager to pick at that fresh scab. Besides, what else more did he have to say that wouldn’t end up hurting you?

It felt like a lifetime had passed when he pulled up at the motel, the lot desolate save another car somewhere down the line. You finally shifted from your position of gazing out the window, but it wasn’t to look at him. It wasn’t even to reach for the handle that’d free you from this suffocating place beside him. Instead, your head was turned forward as you gazed through the windscreen.

“You’re one stubborn shit, you know that?” You said suddenly.

Dean followed your lead and decided to focus on the bug stain streaking the windshield just above the view of his wheel. “Yeah,” he scoffed knowingly, his fingers restlessly tapping the wheel’s rim.

“You’re just so determined to let yourself suffer alone—as if it makes you righteous in sparing us the hurt. But in reality, we’re already suffering. I mean, we’ve all got our own shit going on, right? The only thing making it worse is that somebody we care about is going through something unimaginable, but we don’t know how the hell to help him because he just won’t talk about it. Because he’s scared about—I don’t know—making us accomplices to his problems, I guess.”

Dean’s head buckled to the view of his lap as he listened to you talk, gripping the wheel’s rim a little tighter as he strangled the emotion threatening to take ahold of him. He heard you shift in your seat, noting as your knees turned toward him for a more direct confrontation. He didn’t think he could endure your frustration for any longer without finally cracking, and that scared him.

“When will you stop being so selfless, Dean?”

He allowed that question to linger in the air. Him, selfless? He wasn’t sure he’d call it that. To tell the truth, though, keeping his mouth shut had slowly been wearing him down. And it was almost as though walling off both you and Sammy had allowed the voices in his head to get as bad as they did. He knew all of this, but still he couldn’t find it in himself to open up. He’d never been good with rationalising his emotions, or with asking for help to do so. After all, growing up, he’d had nobody to ask. So he’d done the only thing he knew how to—suck it up and act the steadfast parent so that he could take care of Sammy. And ever since, he’d never quite learnt how to step out of that role, or how to take care of himself.

“I guess I’m just not ready to talk about it, yet,” Dean admitted in an unsteady murmur. His lower lip began to quiver, and he hated the way no amount of clenching his jaw seemed to quell it.

The hand he’d hovered on the wheel moved hastily to wipe the moisture he felt brimming on the cusp of his eyes, and he swallowed hard to fight his urge to flee the car. There was a loud silence from your side that made his ears ring; he wished you would say something—anything—before his voices did.

“I get that,” you said eventually. It made him release a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Your hand came fourth to rest on his shoulder, which made him drew a sharp, shuddering breath, despite your warmth seeping through his layers in a way that should’ve soothed him entirely.

“I just need you to know that you don’t have to do everything on your own,” you continued. “It gets exhausting. Trust me, I’ve been on my own for practically my entire life before I met you and Sam.” You paused when Dean turned to face you. “You wanna know something? Humans weren’t made to be alone—to do things alone. We’ve never been strong enough. That comes back to bite some people in the ass, but I’d say for people like us, it’s a blessing. So count them, Dean.”

And finally, as Dean sat stewing in his vulnerability, held hostage under your intense stare, he understood what glint had been in your eye all along. He couldn’t look away from it anymore. As if you seemed to witness his change in demeanour, the hand on his shoulder began to trail down the sleeve of his jacket in a suggestive caress. It set a fire to his chest, one that made him breath a little deeper for the air you seemed to be stealing from his lungs.

“Listen. . . you’re Sammy’s friend,” he pushed out weakly, an attempt to reason against his pressing urges. He hoped that by saying it aloud, he’d be able to silence the part of him that craved the pursuit of you. But for once, amongst the many voices in his head, he could hear his own—loud and clear in it’s true hopes that you’d be braver than he felt and make nothing of his poor argument. That you’d be brave enough to give him the permission he’d been withholding from himself.

You gave him this subtle squint—he caught it briefly in the thinning of your lashes. And then there was the slight hitch in the corner of your lips. The sight made his heart flutter up an inch. For all the voices in his head, he wished he could hear yours right now. Did you want this as much as he did?

Eventually, he caught you leaning closer to his yearning self. “So?” You murmured, the challenge accentuated by the purse in your lips. “I’m my own person before I’m Sam’s friend. I think I’m pretty capable of making my own decisions and dealing with the consequences that come after.”

Dean’s lower lip sank open at that, his brows quirking on anticipation. “I can’t promise you that. . . this, whatever it is, will be an easy ride,” he said. That I’ll be easy to love, he added silently.

You fixed him a long stare, your lips pressed into a thoughtful line. “I told you, Dean, this one’s on me,” you murmured.

This time, he knew that you weren’t alluding to the drink.

You’ll regret this, the voices barked. That’s my own damn decision.

Slowly, he began to lean in toward you, holding your stare and feeling further encouraged by the eager glint that seemed to grow in their breath-taking depths. The voices in his head blared a united jest. She doesn’t want you, she only pities you. You’re going to ruin her, just like you ruin everything else. You think Sammy’s going to forgive you when you break his closest friend? Traitor. Some big bro you are. You’ve always been selfish. He pushed back a mental answer. Shut. It. They didn’t listen.

He felt his heart begin to thud a little harder at his chest, but he gave a hefty swallow to dampen the feeling, and before it had a chance to return reinforced, he pushed his lips to yours.

Silence.

For the first time in what felt like ages, there was silence. Blissful, unequivocal silence. As if your touch was the antidote he’d needed all along to quench the fire hell had set alight to his brain. As if you’d been the missing incantation he’d needed to chant to keep all his demons at bay. And it made him greedy—this taste of peace you seemed to offer him. So he claimed more of it, the kiss deepening as he brought up his hands to cradle both delicate curves of your jaw. In turn, your hands flew up to bracket his neck, before drawing sensual lines all the way to his nape. Your touch was as gentle as he’d imagined, and as kind as he knew you to be, and he craved more of it. More of you. All of you.

Goddammit, he shouldn’t, but he did. He was only human, after all—even if he was all the worst parts of one.

He pulled away briefly to take the view of you in, lips parted in a slight pant. You mirrored him well, the gentle glare of the lamppost light reflected across your slicked lips. The sight made him burn with a more feral desire. He just had to have you. He was far beyond fending off his selfish desires now.

“Dean?” You called softly, an unsure twinge to your tone. You must’ve thought that he’d begun having doubts about pursuing this because there was a sudden, anxious furrow to your brows. But your hands didn’t falter from his neck, and he sure as hell wasn’t letting you go, either.

“C’mere,” he breathed softly, releasing your jaw only to slide his hands down your waist and to your hips, where he settled a firm grip to encourage you onto his lap. You followed his flow so naturally, hands sliding along the toned slope of his shoulders to grip there for support. You manoeuvred across the conjoined seat and reached the first leg over his lap, which Dean cupped at the thigh to steady you onto him. “Yeah, there ya go, you got it,” he murmured encouragingly, and your other leg followed shortly after until you comfortably straddled him.

You tilted your head up to drink in the impala’s ceiling, which could manage a graze of your nose if you lifted yourself any further. “Bit of a tight fit, isn’t it?” You giggled, glancing back down at Dean. He wanted to bottle the sound.

“Hey, she’ll do plenty fine,” he chuckled huskily, his hands comfortably settled at the meat of your hips. His thumbs rubbed tentative circles across your clothed skin, and he watched the way your lower lip drew into a subtle bite. It drove him nuts. He found himself leaning up to reach for your lips once more, but you held him back with an index finger to his chin.

“And just so we’re clear, I don’t have a curfew,” you said pointedly. Dean knew you were alluding to what he’d said back at the bar.

His lips split with a thankful grin. “Hallelujah to that,” he drawled huskily before lowering his lips to deliver a playful nibble to your finger. You let slip a giggle the most bubbly he’d ever heard before plucking your finger away and replacing it with your hungry lips.

His hands found their way below the hem of your dress, where he rubbed a firm line up your thighs. The touch coaxed a moan from your lips, poured into his mouth like the drizzle of honey—he couldn’t help but lap it up. Your hands wandered messy lines up and down the expanse of his neck, even going so far as to tousle his hair. The stimulation drove him crazy and sent a jolt down to his core. The longer your lips spent entangled, the more he felt his jean begin to strain beyond his control—but he didn’t have much adoration left to conceal. If anything, he wanted you to know exactly how you consumed every part of him.

He pulled away from the kiss, chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wantin’ this,” he husked. “Wantin’ you.”

He could see the way the kiss had left you breathless, too, and strands of hair had fallen from the keep of your ears to messily frame your face. God, you looked beautiful. “Your damn fault for taking this long to pursue it. I’ve given all the signs, Dean Winchester, but you are as naive as boys come.”

He reached up to tuck the hair behind your ears, making a point to trail his fingers along the contour of your jaw as a knowing smirk felt out his lips. “Nah, just a good ol’ case of self-restraint,” he murmured.

“Oh because you know what’s so good for you?” You teased. Even under the dim lamplight, he could make out the rosy tint to your cheeks.

“I damn well do now.”

“Then show me.”

Dean grinned at your blatant challenge, hands moving to grab at your hips. He slowly began grounding you against his erection, which plucked from your lips a series of noises that began to grow more and more lewd with each passing second. He felt your nails digging into his shoulders, the padding of his jacket cushioning the sensation into gentle kneading. He couldn’t help but grunt with each blissful stroke against him—god, he could do this all night. It wasn’t long before you’d taken over the job entirely, your hips stirring back and fourth across his lap to a slow, tantalising rhythm that made his head loll back against the seat.

“Fuck,” he grunted, his teeth grit as he endured the waves of pleasure riding its way through every nerve of his body. His fought the urge to flutter his eyes closed, to drown in the darkness of his euphoria because there was no way in hell he was missing a single detail about you—lower lip nibbled, fluttering lashes, heaving chest, a show all for him.

“You like that?” You asked thinly, your eyes fluttering closed as you threw your head back with a single, harsh push of your hips.

“Like it? You’re killin’ me over here,” he pushed out—a gruff, strained sound as he battled the heat accumulating in his groin. The demons, the angels, every asshole out to get him could go stuff it. At the end of the day, it was you that was going to be the sure death of him.

You let out an impish giggle, your hands releasing his shoulders to plough through your hair in the most seductive manner you could manage. It made him clench his jaw, made his grip on your hips a little firmer than before.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he praised breathlessly, eyes fluttering through his lashes as he gazed up at you. You were mesmerising, in everything that you did. You didn’t ever have to be doing much for him to want to stare. Existing was enough. Doing more than existing was a bonus.

He saw the way you lit up at that compliment, and it made him want to shower you with many more like it. Hunting had its kicks, but fuck, this—you—he could find himself addicted. That should’ve made you dangerous, especially when you were all he needed to take to stifle the voices. But he couldn’t pull away from you now. He wouldn’t. In fact, it only made him want to hold onto you more fiercely.

Your hands reached back for the steering wheel as you sought out just the angle to intensify your movements, and that’s when you accidentally struck the hooter. The both of you jolted with the noise, which made your hands fly up to cup your mouth in both horror and amusement, your hips stilling against his lap.

Instinctively, both Dean and yourself turned to glance through the windscreen, zoning in on the door that lead up to the three bed motel you’d been renting for a good month or so. A few tense seconds passed, but the door never opened to reveal an inquisitive Sam, and you both let out with a breath of relief. You collapsed onto the crown of Dean’s head with a fit of laughter, practically hugging his head. He burrowed into your chest with his own chuckle as his hands dragged up your body to wrap around your waist in a hug.

“I’m thinkin’ maybe we should move this party to the backseat,” he murmured against you.

You pulled back to face him, hands entangling at the nape of his neck. “I think that’s for the best,” you giggled, leaning down to place a tender kiss on his lips. He loved how gentle your touch felt, like he was being admired more than desired—something to savour and not to lap up like a greedy, guilty cheat meal. It made him feel valued, and he’d take every damn second of this night to return the favour.

He received your kiss eagerly, eyes falling shut as he basked in your soothing warmth. He found himself breathing a little deeper, your scent streaming in to envelop him further in your essence—as if he craved to be remade in your image. Then, much to his disappointment, you pulled away and left his lips bare as you began to shift from his lap. He watched as you reached past his torso to bend yourself over the seat, and then with a few noises of effort here and there, you heaved yourself over—your flailing foot nearly striking his eye in the process.

“You good?” He called back, twisting in his spot to catch you sprawled on your back along the seat. Oh, you were comfortable, all right.

“Just get over here, Lover Boy,” you giggled, hands grabbing the empty air.

Dean chuckled and shifted onto his knees with a grunt, carefully reaching over the seats to place his hands on either side of your torso. He got the last of himself over so that he towered over your waiting figure, the necklace permanently wrung around his neck slipping his top to dangle toward you. Your eyes latched onto it curiously before you reached up to hold it between cautious fingers. He half expected you to ask about it, but instead, you released it and wrapped your hands around his neck, as if nothing other than him mattered in that moment.

Before he knew it, he was pulled down into a kiss, and he leaned down even further to get lost in the taste of you. His hands lowered along your body to find the hem of your dress, where they fastened around the material and began dragging it up and over the curves of your legs. When he’d gotten to your torso, he broke off the kiss to lift himself a fraction, your hands coming up to aid the removal of your dress. He slipped it over your head and tossed it onto the floor before moving to shed his own jacket and layered shirts. The clutter of your shoes falling to the floor sounded some ways behind him, and he took a moment to do the same, shrugging off his boots into the oblivion below.

He took a moment to glance you over, almost naked save the pretty set of lace underwear. He’d pictured this moment far too many times than he’d like to admit, and now he drank in your every curve, scar and blemish, and marvelled at the soft sheen of your skin to the point where he hoped he’d come to memorise you. Somewhere in the mix, he picked up the sweet tang of your lotion.

“God,” he pushed out absentmindedly, his hands moving to rub soft lines down your waist.

“A believer now, are we?” You poked, your back arching an inch off the seat as you bathed in his endearing touch.

Dean jerked his chin. “I mean, come on,” he grinned, doing another sweep of your body before he leaned down to litter soft kisses along your neck. Your head caved further into the seat, broadening the horizon for his appreciative lips to explore as they pleased—and they did.

He drew passionate lines all over the curve of your neck, even managing a sneaky trail up to your ears, where he nibbled lovingly at the lobe. You giggled, the sound pure music and bliss to his ears. He wandered all the way down to your collarbones, experimenting with light nibbles along the tender anatomy before he soothed it with a slow kiss. You let out a passionate moan that spurred him on, the strain in his jeans becoming far tighter than he could bear, but he couldn’t stop himself from exploring every inch of you just yet. He intended on pressing all of your buttons—desperate to know just how many sounds he could coax from you.

He dipped down to place a kiss on your breast, so perfectly hoisted by the bra he sought to slip from your body. He pulled back in a light pant, his hands coming up to fulfil his wishes. Thankfully, it was one of those that unhooked in the front. It sure as hell would save the extra effort. While he reached for the clip, your hands wandered up his muscled forearms, thumbs tracing over the veins of your choice. He stole a glance from you, noting how you seemed as enticed by him as he felt by you, before he turned his focus back to your bra with a sheepish grin on his lips.

“What’s got you more flustered than a frat boy with a serious crush?” You asked, your hands straying from his arms to trail down his toned abdomen.

Your touch stopped just shy of his navel, but the heat carried all the way to his groin. “Don’t you play games with me,” he warned through a smirk, the bra’s clip coming undone. Slowly, he parted the cupping, his breath usurped by the view of your spreading breasts. “Y’know what, play as many games as you’d like—but keep the damn view, will ya?” He chuckled, aiding your efforts to shimmy the bra straps from your shoulders.

Your hands hovered half-way over the hem of his pants, framing his gently carved v-lines in admiration. And then you began to undo the button of his jean, the zipper splitting downward in a slow and steady whir that hoisted his primal urges. You made a point to simultaneously tug at the hem of his underwear as you pulled down his jean, which he shifted to help aid the removal of. He felt mildly embarrassed at the way his manhood bowed with eager anticipation, but you drank in the view with flustered eyes, lips thinning with an exhilarated grin that told him you were marvelling in the spell you’d cast over him.

When you met his gaze again, there was this almost pleading look to your eyes. He answered your silent prayers by bowing down to place tender, thorough kisses all around the curves of your breasts, even taking a moment to adorn your hardened buds with a hot swirl of his tongue and a gentle toying of his teeth. This action alone seemed to tug at your last thread until you’d unravelled into a mewling mess, slurring his name in a manner that made him never want to stop. His hands came up to squeeze your breasts a little harsher than he’d intended to, but you let out an approving groan that left his grip steadfast as he continued his toying.

The hands you’d settled into his hair was the last straw he needed to finally drag his attention lower, where he instilled sloppy, hasty kisses all along your stomach. He reached the hem of your delicate lace, hands gliding over the meat of your hips to hook his fingers under the waistband and yank it down your legs. You discarded the undies eagerly, and with his newfound access to your womanhood, he gave you a content smile before dipping between your thighs to drag his tongue through your slicked folds. He curled his arms around your propped thighs, his nose burying against your clit as he lapped up your core at slow and steady pace. He deliberately took his time to draw all manner of patterns along the tender skin, keenly listening for any hitch in your moans that indicated he’d found a sweet spot. The sound of your undoing? Now that was a voice he’d gladly allow to plague his mind—all day, all night.

He could tell by the progressive loudness of your moans and the more frantic jerking of your lower half that were close to your limits, so he intensified every flick and whisk of his tongue to help carry you to that point.

“Dean—stop,” you breathed out suddenly. Immediately, he withdrew from your proximity with a concerned glance in your direction.

“You all right?” He asked, releasing his grip on your thighs to rub calming circles along your sensitive skin. “If I pushed too far, I’m sor—” he attempted to apologise, but you were eager to cut him short.

“No, it’s not that!” You said quickly, propping yourself onto your elbows to take the view of him in better. “You’re doing amazing—you’re amazing,” you said through a soft smile, your cheeks blown red by a combination of your stimulation and your almost undoing. “But I don’t want to finish just yet. I want to feel you—all of you,” you explained.

Dean caught on quickly, his heart lurching a short distance. “Yeah—yeah, of course,” he murmured, inching his way back up toward you, where he leaned in to brush his nose against yours tenderly before he dipped to place his yearning kiss onto your lips.

“I want you so bad, Dean,” you murmured between kisses—a sweet, breathless sound that cooed into his ear.

“You have no fuckin’ idea how mutual the feeling is,” He breathed, answering your plea by reaching down to grab ahold of his manhood. He delivered a quick, preparatory pump along the length before he pressed it to your slicked folds and dragged it down to your entrance. You let out a sharp moan at that, the kiss temporarily seizing.

Slowly, he began to insert himself into your warmth. You drank him in so eagerly that he couldn’t stop a strained moan from slipping his lips.

“Oh, man,” he mumbled huskily, head collapsing just past yours as he drove himself into the first pump—so controlled and calculated as though he were afraid to hurt you. You seemed appreciative of his pace, your hands coming up to wrap around the toned contours of his back. “You still good?” He checked in as his hips retracted for the second stroke, angling himself to achieve just the right curve that would boldly reach your sweet spot.

You mumbled a feeble mhm, your fingers burrowing little divots into the muscle of his back. That confirmation cemented him, and he took on a steady pace within you, one hand reaching down to grip your thigh in support. It wasn’t long before the impala began to sway under his growing pace, each powered thrust of his hips against yours providing all the momentum needed to rock the steadfast steel. The mingled tune of your moans and grunts filled the isolated air of the car, the windows tinted with a secretive sweat bled from your combined body heat. It carried on for a while, and he could only hope that nobody was around to witness it.

His high came on strong—and embarrassingly, a lot more quicker than yours. He’d blame it on his infatuation with you. That, and the fact that he’d practically cleansed his brain of the mere thought of you. It’d all been necessary to spare himself the torment of fawning over every aspect of your existence, but now that he was finally afforded the opportunity to truly taste you, could he have blamed himself for being greedy? Still, he throttled the urge to scatter his pleasure, straining and waiting as you reached your own breaking point. He knew you were near when he felt the twinge of your nails against his back, and he brought both arms up to straddle your head as he pressed a desperate kiss to your lips.

With a single, deep thrust of his hips, you both spluttered a weepy breath. The knot in his core dissipated into an elated, white haze that consumed his every sense. For a moment, all he could do was hover himself over you, his lips splayed against yours as he grunted into you. Your lips tangled in breathless bouts of air, occasionally snagging in a weak kiss.

“You’re amazing,” he breathed against your cheek, placing a kiss onto the flushed skin.

Your hands came up to cradle his face and push him just far enough to drink him in. “I adore you, Dean Winchester,” you whispered lovingly. “I always have.”

The way you gazed at him was enough to throb his debilitated heart, and suddenly he felt rejuvenated within—as though you were all the motivation he needed to keep on powering his way through this cruel experience he’d come to call surviving. You made him want to do more than survive. You made him want to live—if not for himself, then for you. You were the type of person he’d have fought himself free of hell to return back to. And now that he was back, one thing was for certain—he’d keep on fighting to ensure his place on this earth. To remain beside you.

Dean had never been too good with words out loud, so he gave you a soft smile that he hoped could convey a fraction of what he felt for you. He removed your hands from his jaw, crowning each with a kiss before he shifted your bodies into a comfortable spooning session. Your back curved into his chest, your lower half perfectly conforming to his as he held you against him like you’d slip away if he relented for even a second. And you laid like that until a gentle, shallow rhythm of breathing overtook you, sleep coming to claim you with a haste he envied. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slipped into dreamland as quickly as that—and when he did, his nightmares would turn up like an eager workaholic reporting for dawn duty.

Now, with you nestled between the arms that had come to memorise the shape of loneliness, he didn’t mind laying there in wake. He listened to the gentle whisper of your flaring nostrils, taking in a fraction of the peace etched across your partially concealed face. He was glad that somebody else could draw peace from him and claim it in the way that he’d never been able to claim for himself. He was glad that somebody was you.

It had always been you.

He’d been the biggest fool trying to convince himself otherwise.

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a/n: trying out a new format here bc the old one is exactly that. old. n e ways. first Dean fic—be kind to me!! :’) this was so daunting to write, but boy did I have my fun with it. i hope y’all enjoy this piece, i haven’t been able to get this sad sad man out of my mind. i just want to hold him close at all times. also i’m not responsible for any typos i’ve missed bc it’s currently 2 am and i’m scrambling to get this out. the drafts are sick of it.

thank you for reading! all likes, comments & reblogs are deeply appreciated! ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀིྀི

tags — @gibson-g1rl @bohemianblasphemy @fallbhind

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[ama3003]

A Pawn Once More (3)

Character: Haymitch Abernathy

Requested: Again Sorta??? Lol I've been seeing all the love it's been getting and had to continue. Plus I love this story.

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: The final moments leading up the 75th Hunger Games.

Part 1: Here

Part 2: Here

I'm not going to lie, this was the most fun I had writing, and I'm lowkey very proud of this. Let me know if you wanna read her her being in the games.

A.N: I haven't read Sunrise on the Reaping, so please, No Spoilers. It's a Female!Reader. Age Gap: Haymitch is 41 and Reader is in her 20s (preferably 25)

***************

Your nerves hit like a wave the second you stepped into the waiting room.

The air was tense—heavy with the kind of silence that only comes when everyone is pretending not to be afraid. The tributes were scattered around the room, each lost in their own thoughts, their own strategies, their own quiet dread.

You felt your stomach twist.

Last time you were in this position, you scored a seven. Clean, precise knife throws. It wasn’t spectacular, but it got the job done—just enough to earn some sponsors without making you a threat. It kept you safe.

But this wasn’t like last time.

This time, you were older. Sharper. Tired in a way you didn’t know how to explain. And despite all of it, you had no idea what you were going to do in there. No plan, no performance. You hadn’t let yourself think too hard about it, because thinking meant caring—and caring meant fear. And you were so tired of being afraid.

The Capitol had already taken everything. Your home. Your peace. Your sense of self. And now they were back for what little was left.

Your gaze drifted across the room and landed on the District 12 pair, sitting quietly in the far corner. They weren’t speaking, just watching. Watching you. Their expressions were unreadable—somewhere between wary and curious. You offered them a small nod and the faintest smile. They didn’t return it, but they didn’t look away either. That felt like enough.

Then, you saw him—Mason, cutting through the room with that quiet steadiness he always carried.

He slid into the seat beside you without a word, his presence warm and familiar.

“Hey,” he said gently, his voice low. “You ready?”

You nodded automatically, but your fingers betrayed you—tapping anxiously on your leg, tense and restless. Mason noticed. He always noticed.

Without saying anything more, he reached over and placed his hand on top of yours. It was steady. Grounding. You immediately stilled.

“You’re going to be alright,” he said, soft but certain. “We both are.”

You looked at him—and just like that, something inside you loosened.

Those eyes. You remembered them. The same ones you met when you were sixteen, standing awkwardly at your Victor’s party, trying not to be seen. He hadn’t mentored your Games, but he found you anyway. Quiet, lost, and not ready for any of it. He’d seen you for what you were—another broken kid trying to survive something you weren’t built for.

He knew that look. He’d worn it once, too.

And from that night on, Mason became something steady in your life. Maybe even something safe. He couldn’t stop the Capitol from throwing you into another nightmare, but if you had to go back in, you were glad it was with him.

“It’s going to be fine,” you murmured, offering a small, tired smile. And for a moment, you let yourself believe it. Mason would follow you anywhere. You didn’t have to question it. His loyalty wasn’t loud or showy—it was just there. Unshakable.

“Y/N. Mason.”

You turned at the sound of your names and saw Cashmere and Gloss approaching, their movements smooth and practiced like they were walking a red carpet instead of waiting to face death again. Behind them, Enobaria and Brutus stood from their seats, joining the group.

Cashmere slipped her arm around your shoulders like it was second nature. “You ready to make some jaws drop?” she asked with that signature smirk. Confident. Stunning. But under it, you could see the flicker of something else. That same tension that lived in all of you now.

“Always,” you said, letting the corners of your mouth lift. “I think I’m just gonna wing it. Do whatever feels right.”

Cashmere raised an eyebrow. “That’s either brilliant or reckless.”

“Maybe both,” you replied.

“As long as you scare them a little, you’ll land at least a nine,” Enobaria said, cracking her knuckles and flashing her sharpened teeth. “I’m thinking of stabbing a dummy and barring my teeth at the Gamemakers.”

Brutus rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and they’ll send you straight to the Capitol psych ward.”

Enobaria grinned wider. “Sounds like a vacation compared to what’s coming.”

You huffed out a quiet laugh before turning to the siblings.

“What about you two?”

Gloss shrugged, arms crossed over his chest. “Spear work. Something fast and clean—show them I haven’t slowed down. I’m not there to impress them. Just remind them what I can do.”

Cashmere spun a knife lazily between her fingers. “Knives, obviously. Hit the vitals, maybe throw in a flip or two if I feel like showing off. Nothing too wild—we’re aiming for tens, not twelves.”

She looked at Mason, nudging his leg with her foot. “What about you?”

Mason tilted his head, thoughtful. “Not much I can do solo. Might ask to use the moving targets—simulate a real fight. Or…” he glanced sideways at you, smiling faintly, “maybe someone here’s brave enough to volunteer.”

You rolled your eyes, smirking. “Keep dreaming.”

But before anyone could say anything else, a sharp voice echoed through the room:

“District One, Gloss Tanner. Report for individual assessment.”

Silence fell instantly. All eyes shifted to Gloss.

He stood slowly, rolling his shoulders once, then turned to his sister. Cashmere reached out and touched his arm, her expression softening.

Gloss gave her a quick squeeze on the shoulder and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Then he looked at the rest of you, smiled like it was nothing, and said, “See you on the other side.”

And then he was gone.

No hesitation. No second glance.

The moment lingered in the air. Thick. Heavy. Real.

Enobaria was the first to break the silence. “We’ll head back to our seats,” she said, giving each of you a quick hug like she didn’t want to think too hard about it. Brutus did the same—no words, just a quiet presence—and then they were gone.

“We should, too,” Mason murmured, giving Cashmere’s shoulder a squeeze.

You turned to her and wrapped your arms around her tightly.

“He’s going to do great,” you whispered. “And so will you. Okay?”

Cashmere gave you a watery smile, blinking fast. “Good luck, Y/N.”

“You too.”

She held you for a second longer, then let go and sat down, folding her hands in her lap, eyes fixed on the door Gloss had disappeared through.

Before heading back to your seat, you squat down in front of Finnick and Mags. Grinning, you greet them with a playful, “Hello, my fishies.”

Finnick rolls his eyes dramatically, but there's a smile tugging at his lips. Mags, ever the nurturing figure, pats you on the head as if you were a child, her touch gentle and warm.

“I swear, before I die, I’m going to need a new nickname,” Finnick jokes, sounding far more serious than he probably intends. “I can’t die with ‘Fishy’ on my tombstone.”

You nudge his knee playfully. “Oh, don’t worry, Finnick. I wouldn’t do that to you. But I would say, ‘Best Swimmer in the Mighty Seas,’” you add with a wink, your tone light.

Mags laughs softly, her eyes crinkling with kindness. You turn toward her. “Ready to blow them away with your rope-tying skills?” You can’t help but tease, excited for the elderly woman you admire so much.

Mags gives you a thumbs up, her smile all the answer you need. Then she points to Finnick, mimicking the movement of a trident with her hands.

“Oh, yes. Finnick and his big fork,” you tease, ruffling his hair affectionately. You and Finnick had always been close—almost like siblings, really. You won your Games right after him, and to say you leaned on each other would be an understatement. There was an unspoken understanding between you two, born from the shared experience of surviving this hell.

You hear Cashmere’s name being called, and as she rises, she shoots you a reassuring smile before heading toward the door.

Turning back to Finnick and Mags, you see the stress hanging heavy on their shoulders. Without thinking, you rise to your feet and give them both tight hugs. “It’s going to be fine,” you say, your voice firm but kind. “I’ve never seen anyone handle a trident as well as you, Finnick. And no one—no one—can tie a knot as tight as you, Mags.”

Both of them smile up at you, their faces softening. They know exactly what you’re doing—trying to ease their tension, give them a little comfort. That’s why they love having you around.

“I’ll catch up with you two after, okay?” You give them both a final squeeze. “Good luck out there.”

They nod, their smiles a little more relaxed now. You return to your seat next to Mason, feeling a brief moment of relief as you settle beside him.

“You’re being a great motivator. I’m feeling inspired,” Mason says with a half-smile, his tone teasing as he nudges you lightly.

You can’t help but scoff, shaking your head. “These are our friends. And we’re supposed to kill them like it’s nothing?” You laugh softly, but it’s a bitter sound.

Mason’s smirk fades, and he turns to face you more seriously. “We all know how this is going to play out,” he says quietly, his voice laced with a mix of resignation and practicality. “And we promised we weren’t going to take it to heart. Quick and painless, remember?”

You exhale slowly, your chest heavy. “Doesn’t mean it’s not going to happen. And let’s say… in the off chance that we both make it to the end. Then what?” You meet his gaze, both of you silently acknowledging the truth between you. Neither of you would be able to kill the other. Not after everything.

Mason’s eyes soften, but his voice is firm as he shakes his head. “That’s never going to happen. You know that,” he says, his tone heavy with certainty. “It’ll be someone else, or… it’ll be me.”

You can’t argue with that. It’s the cruel reality you’re both facing, one that feels too dark to even consider. You drop your head into your hands, the weight of it all pushing down on you.

Mason doesn’t have any comforting words—he knows they won’t help. He just reaches over, ruffling your hair lightly before pulling you into his side. His presence, solid and steady, is the only thing that’s keeping you from shattering in that moment.

You watch the District Three pair go, followed by Finnick, and then Mags. Each one of them stepping into their fate, and each one leaving a piece of their heart in the room.

Time passes slowly. Your own thoughts are heavy, weighed down by the same unspoken question everyone in this room is carrying.

And then, you hear it.

“District Five, Mason Cover. Report for individual assessment.”

Your body freezes. Your heart skips a beat.

Mason feels it, too. The weight of the arena, the uncertainty of what’s to come, the fear—it’s all there, hanging between you two.

“Darling, it’s going to be fine,” he whispers in your ear, his voice calm, steady. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, the warmth of his lips a small comfort in the sea of tension.

You try to return the reassurance, offering him a soft smile. “Good luck,” you murmur, even though you’re not sure if either of you believe it.

He meets your gaze, his smile small but sincere. “You too,” he says, his voice softer now. He ruffles your hair one more time before standing up. “See you on the other side.” His words are light, basically mimicking Gloss. But you still teared up.

You nod, trying to swallow the lump in your throat as you watch him leave. He glances back once, offering you a final wave, and then he’s gone, heading toward the door with that same quiet confidence he always carries.

Now, the fear was real. The anxiety had a tight grip on you, and no matter how hard you tried to steady your breathing, it was a struggle. Your chest felt heavy, each breath an effort.

You closed your eyes, trying to center yourself. Ten minutes. That’s all you had. Ten minutes to somehow find a way to push past the panic, to focus, to prepare yourself.

You were so far inside your head that you didn’t even notice someone sitting down next to you until you heard a soft voice.

“Are you ready for your assessment?”

You jumped, startled, and turned to see Peeta sitting where Mason had just been. He gave you a small, sheepish smile. “Stupid question, I know. I’m sure you’ve been asked by everyone else. Should’ve said something else.”

It wasn’t what you expected��Peeta of all people sitting next to you. You glanced over at Katniss. She was watching you closely from a distance, eyes trained on both you and Peeta, her protective instincts sharp.

You turned back to Peeta, trying to shake off the unease. “I’m ready enough to just get it over with,” you replied, your voice steady, but you could feel the tension coiled deep inside you. “Are you?”

He nodded, though his smile was a little strained. “Yeah, it’s kind of crazy, you know? I was doing this exact thing a year ago. Not much has changed.”

You shook your head slightly. “Everything’s changed, Peeta. You’re a Victor now. That means something.”

Peeta met your eyes, his gaze serious. “We both know I wasn’t supposed to be one.”

“I could say that about all of us,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “None of us were supposed to be Victors, but here we are. And it’s important, Peeta, that you start believing that. It’s the only way you’re going to make it out of the arena.”

He didn’t speak for a moment, just looking at you like he was weighing your words. Finally, he broke the silence, his fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on his sleeve. “Haymitch says we should team up. I know enough to sense how important you are to him.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re trying to recruit me?” you asked, teasing but also a little touched by his honesty. You could tell he wasn’t exactly sure where this conversation was heading, but he was trying to find his footing.

He looked uncomfortable but pushed on, “I’m not saying we should be best friends or anything, but you’re important to Haymitch. I think you’re important to Katniss, too, even if she doesn’t show it.” His voice softened. “I’m just doing what I can. You know, trying to look out for her… and for us.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t think your fiancée would agree,” you said, your tone light, but there was an edge to it.

Peeta let out a small, dry chuckle. “And I don’t think your partner would be thrilled, either, but here we are.”

That made you smirk. He had a way with words, even when he was hesitant. “I’ve always been on your team, Peeta. I just need you to accept that you’re on mine, too.” Your voice was quieter now, more earnest. You met his gaze, not backing down. “I’m behind you a hundred percent. And I know Mason will be, too. But you have to trust us. Just like you want to protect Katniss, I do too. I’ll do whatever it takes to see her come out of this alive.”

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. “If you don’t trust my words, trust Haymitch’s. I’m on your side.”

Before Peeta could respond, the loudspeaker crackled, cutting through the tension.

“District Five, Y/N L/N. Report for individual assessment.”

You tensed, your heart skipping a beat, but you tried to keep your breathing steady. This was it. You stood up slowly, then turned to Peeta. With a light touch, you patted his leg.

“I’ll see you later, Peeta. Good luck to you both,” you said, your voice more confident than you felt.

Peeta watched you as you turned to leave, his eyes following you until you reached the door.

Once you were out of sight, Peeta made his way back to Katniss, who was still watching him closely, waiting for him to speak. He sat down beside her, his expression thoughtful.

“I think we should team up with District Five,” he said, his voice low but sure.

Katniss looked at him, skepticism written across her face. “Are you sure about this?”

Peeta met her gaze, his eyes steady. “Trust me.”

After a long moment of silence, Katniss finally nodded, her resolve firming. “Okay,” she said quietly.

************

You stared at yourself in the mirror, your reflection a ghost of someone you used to be. The makeup was heavy, transforming your features, and for a moment, you looked like you did nine years ago—before the Games, before all of this.

Tomorrow, you would be thrown back into the arena. Tomorrow, you’d have to fight your friends, leave your husband behind, and maybe die. And the weight of it made everything seem so much heavier.

You were scared during your first Games, but this fear—it was different. It was paralyzing. It settled deep in your chest, like something solid and cold, and you couldn’t breathe.

The sound of cheers rang out as Caesar Flickerman strutted onto the stage, his perfect, rehearsed smile beaming across the crowd. Your pulse quickened.

"There, absolutely perfection," your stylist said, patting her face to dry the tears you hadn't realized had begun to fall.

"Thank you," you whispered, blinking the haze from your eyes. You stepped onto the line between Mags and Mason, trying to steady your breath, your heart threatening to burst out of your chest.

"Breathe," Mason whispered, his voice low but steady. "You look beautiful."

A small, trembling smile pulled at your lips. "Thanks," you murmured, looking at Mags. "You look pretty," you added, hoping it would ease the tension in the air. Mags smiled, a soft, knowing look on her face. She pointed to your dress. "Thank you," you said. "It’s supposed to mimic my first Games."

You swallowed, looking around at the others, trying to block out the tightness in your chest. Nervous energy swirled around you. The others could feel it, too, but everyone was doing their best to keep it together.

You saw Gloss take his turn, then Cash, and then Brutus. One after another, they walked past you, their faces filled with the same mix of dread and determination.

"I can’t believe tomorrow is the day," Mason said, jumping up slightly, the nerves evident in his voice.

"You're telling me," Finnick said, giving a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I’m about to perform my best acting yet—pretend I’m not already dead inside—and then I’m gonna die. Sounds like a real blast."

Mags shot him a disapproving look, but you could see the faintest hint of a smile tug at her lips.

"We just have to get through tonight. Tomorrow’s a whole other day," you said, trying to sound reassuring, though the words felt hollow even as you spoke them. "We’ll figure it out then."

The others fell silent at your words, each one lost in their own thoughts, the realization of what was coming settling in.

Finnick went next, followed by Mags. Then Mason.

"Wish me luck," Mason said, winking at you before stepping onto the stage, the Capitol audience erupting in applause.

"Good luck," you said, smirking, watching him stride out with the swagger only Mason could pull off.

"It’s annoying how charming that guy is," you muttered, half to yourself.

Johanna let out a short, dry laugh. "Do you think, before I die, he’ll grant me a death-wish kiss?" she joked, her usual biting humor still intact.

You nudged her with a grin. "Hey, I think the probability of that is extremely high."

Mason’s interview went off without a hitch. He played the ‘I’m about to die, and I never loved anyone’ card, and the Capitol ate it up. The single women in the crowd swooned as he strutted off the stage, bowing to his fellow tributes.

"And now, for one of the Capitol’s favorite girls, let’s hear it for Y/N L/N!" The announcement was loud, and the crowd roared in excitement.

You took a deep breath, forcing a smile as you walked onto the stage, the eyes of Panem on you. You knew how to work a crowd, how to present yourself as the confident, charming Victor everyone adored. But tonight, it felt like more of a mask than ever before.

Caesar Flickerman’s smile was as dazzling as always, his voice smooth as silk. "Oh, my dear girl, how are you?" He leaned in for air kisses, his theatrics just a little too perfect.

"Well, I’ve had better days," you said, a soft smile curling at the corner of your lips.

"Today is so emotional and hard for all of us, isn’t it?" Caesar continued, his tone dripping with faux sympathy. "But you—good news for you—you scored an eleven! Absolutely amazing!"

"Thank you," you replied, trying to keep the flatness from your voice. "Since I’m probably going to die tomorrow, I wanted to go out with a bang, I guess."

You saw Caesar’s smile falter for a moment, unsure how to handle your bluntness. But he recovered quickly, ever the professional.

"Well, a bang you did," he said, voice still upbeat. "Now, my dear, we’ve heard so much about those waiting for you back at home. Who’s there for you? Anyone special?"

You forced your gaze to drift across the audience, your eyes scanning the sea of faces before finding the one that anchored you—Haymitch. His eyes were locked onto you, steady and unwavering, like a lifeline in the chaos.

"I have my parents back at home, taking care of my younger brother," you said, your voice a little softer now. "It was definitely a surprise when these Games were announced."

"I’m sure they’re watching you now and cheering for you back in District 5," Caesar smiled warmly, his eyes glistening with false compassion.

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening. "I doubt they will. They promised me they won’t watch. Who would want to see their child get slaughtered?" The words left your lips, cold and harsh, but they were the truth. The crowd grew silent, and Caesar struggled to regain his composure.

"Uh…" He coughed awkwardly, glancing toward the camera. "Well, that’s unfortunate, I’m sure they’ll be missing a good game. Is there anyone else waiting for you? Maybe a man? A little boy toy?"

You didn’t even need to think. The words felt right, even as they left your lips. Your fingers moved instinctively to the necklace around your neck, slipping it off with a deliberate motion, and you looked back at Haymitch. His eyes widened as your fingers found the ring you’d been wearing around your neck. The same one you’d both always kept secret.

"I do, actually," you whispered, barely above the noise of the crowd. A ripple of surprise ran through the room. "I have someone waiting for me."

You slowly slid the ring onto your finger, letting it shine under the Capitol lights. For a moment, the crowd was dead silent. The world seemed to hold its breath. And then, the cheers exploded.

You could see Haymitch in the crowd, his expression unreadable at first. But then, something in his eyes softened. He didn’t hide his emotions, even if you couldn’t hear his voice. It was in the way his hand shook as he reached for his flask, eyes never leaving you.

"You’re married?" Caesar’s voice was full of excitement now, a gleam in his eyes. "What a surprise! Tell us, who is this lucky man?"

You met his gaze again, locking your eyes with Haymitch's. "I’m afraid I’m keeping that information to myself," you replied, your voice calm but firm. "Just in case I die tomorrow, I want him to move on, to find happiness. Obviously, without all the cameras and media .That’s all I’ve ever wanted for him."

You glanced down at the ring, your fingers brushing over it gently as you spoke. "My death will not be the end of him. He will mourn, but he will live. Live for me. Live for us. Live for the world. My death won’t erase our love. Our love will live on. These Games may take everything from me, but our love? That’s something that will last forever." You blinked rapidly, tears beginning to blur your vision. "I’ve loved and been loved in these few years more than some do in a lifetime," you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. "I’m one of the lucky ones."

The audience was silent for a moment before an overwhelming wave of applause broke through the air. You could see the tears welling in Caesar's eyes, his voice shaking with emotion. "That… that was beautiful," he said, his tone sincere. "I’m sure he knows how deeply you love him. And he’s lucky to have someone like you."

"Thank you," you said softly, your heart pounding.

The audience cheered again, but you only had eyes for Haymitch now. You blew him a kiss, a simple gesture, but one that felt like it carried everything you couldn’t say aloud.

"That was amazing," Mason said, wrapping you in a tight hug the second you stepped off the stage.

You cried in his arms, the weight of everything threatening to swallow you whole. "It’s going to be okay, darling girl," Mason whispered, his voice warm and comforting. "He knows you love him, and you know he loves you."

Johanna was next to you, rubbing your back. "You really did a good job. I think all of Panem’s crying right now."

You stopped crying, and only the sound of the following interview filled the room until Johanna spoke again, her voice annoyed.

"Really? A wedding dress?" She raised an eyebrow at Katniss’s dress, which looked suspiciously like a wedding gown.

"Snow made me wear it," Katniss said, her tone flat, not caring much for Johanna, but glanced at you. Haymitch trusted you, and so did Peeta.

"Make him pay for it," Johanna smirked, causing Katniss to smile faintly.

"Come on, let’s get you cleaned up," Mason said, wrapping an arm around you, guiding you away. But then Katniss reached for your wrist, stopping you.

Mason tensed but you turned towards her.

"You did good," Katniss said quietly, nodding at your ring. "I know he appreciates it."

"Thank you," you smiled at her, though it was strained.

"Plus, I’m sure you made Peeta cry," Katniss added with a rare smile.

You laughed softly, your heart lighter despite everything. "Good luck," you said, offering her a smile before following Mason out.

"So, we’re really teaming up with District 12, huh?" Mason said, rolling his eyes.

You nudged him, a small smile playing at your lips. "Yup."

*********

You found yourself staring out the window of the living area in your suite, the stars twinkling distantly in the night sky. Mason was sitting across from you, nose buried in a book, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from the vast darkness outside.

After the interviews, you all held hands, the gesture simple but filled with power, as if, for a brief moment, the Games could be stopped. But an hour ago, Abigail had come in and crushed that fragile hope, informing you that the Games would go on as planned.

You sighed, the weight of the news heavy in your chest.

"I know you're not reading," you said, breaking the silence as you turned to Mason. "You've been on the same page for the last six minutes. It usually takes you three."

He looked up at you, a sly smirk tugging at his lips before he closed the book, setting it down on the table with a soft thud. "True," he said, the humor gone from his eyes. "But it's hard to focus on anything when death is looming over us."

You didn’t respond. Instead, you stood and moved to the window, resting your hands on the cool glass. He followed you, his footsteps soft on the carpet.

"Did Cash seem fine when you told her we weren't joining the pack?" he asked, trying to shift the conversation.

Your shoulders tensed slightly, "She wasn’t happy, but she knew," You said with a nod. "They all knew we were going with District 12. Expected it, even." Then you turned to him, your heart pounding slightly. "Are you mad at me?"

Mason shook his head instantly, his expression softening. "No. Never." He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "I just… I just hope we're not making a mistake. That’s all."

You hesitated, then spoke the words that had been in your head. "You could always go with the Careers, you know."

The words barely left your mouth when Mason shot you a glare, his eyes darkening. "Shut up," he said, his voice sharp but filled with the raw edge of care. "I've been saying the whole time—it's you and me, always. If you want to team up with the newbies, we do it. If you want to team up with the Careers, we do it. Hell, if you want us to be on our own, we’ll do that too. I’m with you, partner, okay? You can't get rid of me that easily." He paused, a small, teasing smile creeping onto his lips. "I’ve been taking care of your ass for almost a decade. I’m not about to stop now."

A lump formed in your throat at his words, and you smiled, fighting back the emotions. "You're my best friend," you whispered, and he chuckled.

"Don’t let Cash hear that or she’ll make it her mission to have my head tomorrow." His voice was light, but there was something deeply affectionate in it.

"I’m serious, Mase," you nudged him, a little more forceful now, your voice cracking. "You’re my best friend. And this… this fucking sucks."

Without another word, Mason wrapped his arms around you tightly, his grip firm and warm. "Darling," he murmured into your hair, "no matter what happens tomorrow, know that you're my best friend. You’ve always been. And, I can’t really be mad at you. They're an alright team. The girl is good with those damn arrows. Plus, we get Finnick and Beetee. It could be worse."

You stayed like that for a long while, holding onto each other, the silent comfort of a friendship that had weathered more storms than anyone should ever have to. Then you heard a soft cough from the doorway, and you reluctantly pulled away.

You turned to see Haymitch standing there, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mason rolled his eyes dramatically, his tone mockingly offended. "Dude," he said with a grin, "I just got told I’m her best friend, and you couldn’t wait five minutes to swoop in? That’s crazy."

Haymitch raised his hands in surrender, still grinning. "Ouch, I thought that was me." He turned to you with a feigned look of hurt on his face. "Sweetheart, you wound me."

You shot them both a tired, amused look. "Quiet, both of you." You turned to Mason, giving him a small, pleading glance. "Mase, can you leave us, please?"

He groaned, but there was affection in the sound. "Fiiiiiinnnneeeee." He dragged out the word in a mock pout, but then he wrapped his arms around you one more time, pulling you close. "I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I’ll find you." He kissed your forehead softly, the gesture comforting despite the weight of everything.

He pulled back, moving toward Haymitch. Before he left, Haymitch stopped and whispered, "Take care of her in there, and I’ll take care of you both out here."

Mason nodded, just slightly, so you wouldn’t notice, before giving Haymitch a firm hug. He stepped back, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he turned to leave. "Good luck, Mason," Haymitch said softly, patting his shoulder as he went.

Mason gave a small nod, trying to keep the tension from showing, and then he left the room.

The door closed behind him, and for a brief moment, the room was silent.

Haymitch walked toward you, his steps slower than usual, more weighted. You didn’t need him to say anything. You already knew.

This was goodbye.

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly like he was trying to memorize the way you fit against him. You buried your face into his chest, inhaling the scent of him—whiskey, pine, and something softer, something that always felt like home.

You wouldn’t see him tomorrow. As soon as you woke, the Peacekeepers would be there—no time for goodbyes, no time for holding each other like this. They’d tear you away from your bed, from this room, from him.

So this… this was it.

The two of you settled onto the couch in silence, your body curled into his, your face tucked into the crook of his neck, and his arms wrapped around you like armor. His hand moved up and down your back in a slow rhythm, steady and calming, though his heart beat loud and uneven against your cheek.

You could die like this, you thought.

God, you wished you would die like this.

"You know what I was thinking?" you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Haymitch hummed in response, low and thoughtful, his fingers gently threading through your hair.

"I think we were meant to be with each other. In every universe. It's always you and I,” you breathed. “And I know... I know in another universe, we got to have a beautiful, long life together."

His lips twitched into a smile, pained but sincere. "You think so?"

"Oh, I know so," you said, the corner of your mouth lifting. “We have three kids. Two girls and one boy. They're perfect—just like we always dreamed. We live in this beautiful home with a white picket fence, big porch swing. You finally grow tomatoes that don’t taste like dirt. We grow old together. We see our kids have kids. We'd be cool grandparents."

"The best grandparents," he said quietly, still stroking your hair, his voice strained and cracked with longing. “Is it weird that I'm jealous of that us?”

"No... because so am I." You closed your eyes, the fantasy a cruel comfort. It felt so real. It should have been real.

Your voice broke as the grief crashed over you like a wave. “This isn’t fair.” The words came out as a sob, and you shoved your face deeper into his neck, clinging to him like he was the last safe thing in the world.

"I know, sweetheart. I know," he murmured, holding you tighter. His hand moved slowly over your back, as if he could rub the pain away, ease the break in your heart. "But I'm going to help you. You and Mase. It's going to be alright.”

He leaned back just enough to look you in the eyes, his own gaze sharp and urgent. “I just need you to stay with Katniss. No matter what—stay with her.”

You blinked, confused for a moment, but nodded. There was something in his tone, something just beneath the surface. You didn't know the full story, but you trusted him. You always had.

"I promise, Haymitch. I’ll try to protect them... for as long as I breathe."

He stilled. Completely.

His jaw clenched, and his grip on you tightened again.

He hadn’t meant for it to come across like that. God, no. He never wanted you to think you owed him that—your life for theirs. That wasn’t what this was.

"I just need you to breathe," he said, his voice rough and trembling. “That’s all I need, okay? Just breathe. Protect yourself. I’ll take care of the kids. I promise. But you—you look after you. No playing hero. No playing mama bear.”

You lifted your head to meet his eyes, your heart thudding. “You care for those kids, Haymitch Abernathy,” you said, voice firm. “I’m going to protect them as much as I can. Nothing’s happening to those kids if I’m there.”

He stared at you, the pain behind his eyes shining like glass ready to crack.

"And I care about you, Y/N Abernathy." His voice hitched. “So you're going to make sure you survive.”

Your bottom lip trembled. You looked at him—at the man you loved more than anything—and whispered, “Only one comes out alive, Mitch.”

Your voice cracked like a brittle bone.

“I’m not even in the top five of who should win.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, hot and burning, and his face crumpled just slightly as he pulled you back into him, his breath stuttering.

You could see it. The way he was unraveling. The storm brewing behind his eyes. He had been holding something in, and it was clawing its way out of him, ripping him apart from the inside.

You’d been accepting your fate quietly, trying not to make it harder for him. But he needed more from you now.

He needed you to fight.

He needed you to live.

He needed to say the thing that had been killing him since the moment he knew. There was this plan. A plan to get Katniss and all the other victors out of there. A plan that could save your life. And he wishes he could tell you scream it out.

But Plutarch didn’t want you to involved because of your close relationship with the careers. He said it could compromise the whole mission. But he needed to tell you. He needed to guarantee your safety. Plutarch be dammed. You’re his wife. You’re the only thing that matters.

"I—" he started, voice hoarse, his hands twitching at his sides. Just spit it out he thought to himself.

You turned to face him fully, one brow raised. He was spinning in his own mind, fighting every instinct. You could tell he wanted to say it, to scream it but there was something holding him back.

"There's thi—well, there's this... this plan... Plutarch—" Why couldn’t he just say it? His heart was screaming at him to spit it out.

You stepped in before he could finish, your heart stalling. You knew that look, the flickering indecision, the desperation caught behind his teeth.

"You're not supposed to tell me, right?" you asked gently, already knowing the answer.

He faltered, looking at you like you’d read the last page of a book he hadn’t finished. He wanted to tell you. So badly. And that’s what terrified you.

"There's this plan—"

"Stop." You raised your hand, voice quiet but firm. A small, tired smile tugged at your lips. "Don’t tell me."

He stared at you in disbelief, his brows furrowed like you’d just spoken in a language he didn’t understand. "What...?"

"There's a reason why you can’t tell me, right?"

He hesitated… and nodded.

"Then it’s probably a good reason.”

"It can save your life," he whispered, and that was when the first tear slipped from his eye. He was screaming at himself to tell you to save you. Why the hell isn’t he saying anything?

Your chest tightened, but you held your voice steady. "But it jeopardizes Katniss, doesn’t it?"

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The silence was loud enough.

"Then don’t tell me."

"Sweetheart..."

"Don't tell me, Haymitch." You stepped closer, looking up at him with as much reassurance as you could muster. "I’m telling you not to tell me. You were going to—and now I’m saying no. So if anything happens, it’s on me. Not you. Never you."

You could already see it in his eyes—the guilt building like floodwater behind a dam. You couldn’t let it break him.

"You need to protect Katniss," you said softly.

His expression cracked as tears finally spilled freely, his voice breaking under the weight of his helplessness. "I need to protect you."

And that nearly broke you.

You had to look away, just for a second. "You’re putting her first," you said, your voice catching. "And that’s okay. You need to put her first. Always. You and I both know that. It’s for the greater cause—something bigger than just you and me."

He clenched his jaw. You both knew it was true. If the rebellion was going to work, it had to be Katniss. It had to be the Mockingjay.

"I need you safe," he said again, like if he repeated it enough, the universe would listen.

"And we need her alive." You were already shifting, already planning. Your voice quickened, desperate to be useful, to give him something to hold on to. "Both of them. Without Peeta, Katniss won’t want to do anything for the rebellion. Okay, I’ll look after Katniss and Mase can look after Peeta. Well of course I’ll also look after Peeta, but—"

You rambled, words spilling from you as your mind raced, building walls to keep the fear from crashing in. And he just looked at you.

God, he looked at you—like you were made of light and heartbreak and everything he could never deserve.

Then suddenly his hands were on your face, steadying you, grounding you. He needed to tell you. It was eating him alive.

You froze under his touch, your voice softening to a murmur. "Don’t tell me, Haymitch. I’m not mad. I won’t be mad. I’ll never make you choose between them or me. I care about them too."

He pulled you close, resting his forehead against yours, his breath trembling.

"It’s always been you," he choked, tears falling freely now. "It’s always going to be you."

You closed your eyes. If you could bottle this moment—this closeness, this certainty—you would have. You’d carry it into the arena like armor.

"This is more than just us, Mitch," you whispered. "If she survives… the districts' hope still lives."

He let out a bitter, shaking breath. "Damn it, woman, I want to tell you. I need to tell you."

You touched his cheek gently, tears stinging your eyes. "But you're holding back for her. And I'm telling you it’s okay."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and straightened your shoulders. "I told you since the beginning—I’m getting her out of that arena. Now you need to promise me you will too. Over Mags. Over Beetee. Over me."

Your voice didn’t shake this time. Not when it mattered most.

You looked into his eyes and saw the war in them—saw him silently screaming I can’t lose you.

But he knew you were right.

"I promise," he whispered, barely getting it out.

"It's going to be okay. We're going to be okay," you whispered, your voice thick with unshed tears as you pulled back, giving him a smile that trembled with hope and heartbreak. "And then one morning, you’ll wake up back in District 12… and you’re going to look out at the sky and feel it. Feel the peace. The Games will be gone. The children will be able to be children again. It’s what we’ve always wanted."

You smiled as you spoke, but he could see it—you weren’t just comforting him.

You were saying goodbye.

And Haymitch felt it. In the hollowness in his chest. In the way your voice cracked just slightly when you talked about a future you didn’t believe you’d see. You were accepting your death. Quietly. Gracefully. Willingly.

Even when the cause didn’t trust you enough to let you in.

And yet, here you were, dreaming about a life beyond the war—knowing you wouldn’t be part of it.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“I feel like I’m making a mistake,” he said, voice raw, like it scraped his throat on the way out. Damn the cause. Damn Plutarch. Damn those District 12 kids. Damn this plan.

“You’re not,” you said gently. “You’re a mentor. We give our lives for those children. If I could’ve saved my tributes, I would’ve.”

You smiled through your tears, and it wrecked him.

“You’re the best mentor known to man. And an even better husband.”

That was the final blow.

“I love you,” he whispered like a confession, like a prayer. “So, so much. More than the moon loves the stars. More than the sun loves the ocean. I love you, Y/N.”

You cupped his face like he was fragile, precious. Like he wasn’t the broken man the world always thought him to be.

“And I love you, Haymitch,” you murmured. You nestled yourself back into his chest, fitting there like you were made for him. And maybe you were.

You both stared out the window as silence wrapped around you. Not a single word for an hour—just hearts beating in sync, like this moment could stretch forever.

But it couldn’t.

Eventually, you sat up slowly, blinking back the heaviness in your eyes. “You have to go check on the kids. The elevator locks soon… and I doubt you want to walk up seven flights of stairs.”

He clung to you a little tighter. “I’ll be fine. Come back here.”

You gave him that look. The one that always shut down every argument. Soft, patient, immovable.

He sighed. He knew. You were doing it for the kids. For him. If the Peacekeepers found you both here, alone, asleep—it would be over for him. You’d never let that happen.

“Fine. Fine.”

You walked him toward the elevator slowly, each step a thousand pounds heavier than the last.

Then you paused.

“Tell Effie I say that I love her… and that she needs to take care of you. No more than three whiskey bottles a week.”

He didn’t laugh.

He didn’t even smile.

He just pulled you into his arms like he was afraid you’d disappear the second he let go.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and he meant it for everything—for the plan, for the Capitol, for the years wasted, for the future he couldn’t give you.

“I’m not,” you said softly, holding his face like a lifeline. “I lived a beautiful life… with amazing friends and a perfect husband. I meant what I said. I felt more love in the years with you than most people ever feel in a lifetime. You made me happy. You make me proud. After everything you’ve been through, we’re finally going to be at peace.”

He was breaking. He didn’t care how pathetic it looked.

“I need you,” he choked, like the words themselves were ripping something loose in his chest.

“And you have me,” you whispered, “forever.”

You kissed his cheek, pulled him close again, memorized the shape of his body, the weight of him in your arms.

“I’ll be fine,” you lied. “Remember your promise.”

You stepped back, slowly pushing him toward the elevator. Your hands were shaking, but your face was steady. Because if you faltered—if you gave in—he would stay. And that was too dangerous.

The doors slid open.

And he didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

But you gave him a little push.

Because you had to.

He stepped inside. And as the doors started to close, you saw the panic take over his features.

"I love you," he said, the words tearing from his chest like a final breath. His heart physically ached. Like it was collapsing in on itself. Like maybe, just maybe, a person could die from a broken heart.

"And I love you too," you replied, the softest smile breaking through your tears. How could you smile when you were walking into your death?

Haymitch didn’t know.

But you always found light, even at the end of the world.

“I’ll see you in the next lifetime,” you said, and your voice cracked on the final word.

The doors slid shut.

And as the elevator descended, the last thing he heard was the sound of you sobbing.

And that was it.

That was the sound that shattered him.

This felt extremely long lol anyways thank y'all for reading! I also live for your comments they actually make my day.

Let me know what you want to see!!!!

Previous Chapter

Taglist (If I'm missing you I'm sorry still new at this)

@nikki-is-a-nerd @quantumorquanta @starvedhoe @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream @andthevillainshallrises @how-am-i-serpose-to-know @honeybunnyboobear @dedicatedfangirl2001 @godwhyamionhere @yoursrosie @darylmysavior @crossfandomslut @passionkillerphil @fallout-girl219 @ramennudel @onlyrealjoy @rosieleej @narliesstuff @flornegrastuff @aylinbsx @briiiiiiiiiiizzzzzzzzzza @starkleila @fanboilingwriter @heidiland05 @escaping-reality8 @teenwolfbitches28 @notplutos @daisydark @velyssaraptor @fangirlbitch02 @needz1nk @mawwddu @chelseyyouraverageluigi

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 || 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐮𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐀𝐜𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐮𝐬

part one: the fallen fruit || part two: here

summary_after freeing Rome, you’ve lost Marcus Acacius, his baby and you are forced to marry Lucius Verus in order to freely rule as empress and visit Acacius’ grave

warnings_ CRINGE, age gap (legal) (I’m 20, sorry) historical inaccuracy, angst, sexism and misogyny, fluff but angst, a lot of canon divergence bc I said so. ANGST ANGST I CRIED WHILE WRITING THIS

note_ that’s it, it’s official, Paul Mescal my new bf, don’t you ever make me write a fic where I knowledge any Pedro character’s death (even if it’s canon) listen to 13 beaches pls

♪ ♫ Pedro playlist

♫ ♪ Paul playlist

✰ Index (+ fics here)

𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ 𓆇𓆸⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ 𓆇𓆸⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ 𓆇𓆸

Once your eyes opened, reality struck you in the harshest possible way. This time, no one was there to tend your wounds. Although they weren’t severe, they had dozed you off for days. You heard Lucilla’s scream and you closed your eyes, knowing your love was dead.

Numbness assaulted you, nausea struck you and you heard everyone gasping in horror as their beloved general’s body collapsed in the arena.

Hours after Marcus Acacius’ died, you lost his baby as well.

A day later, Rome was freed. Lucius Verus became the new emperor and you caught a fatal fever when the sun came down.

That night, death seemed like the most convenient alternative. You had lost everything you had fought for over the years. The man you loved and the prospective children were taken from you before you could’ve claimed them.

Something changed when you woke up. Like time has passed so rapidly that the pain from the loss of Acacius and your baby has healed. But as soon as you think about the would’ve, could’ve, should’ve… you start sobbing.

It’s a bright morning and the city sounds peaceful. Everyone has moved on. And you know you’ll have to. Only that, you don’t know how.

With your brother’s death, your lover and baby’s, everyone was gone.

Lucius is alive…

There’s a knock on the door and soon it opened.

A man should never intrude into a woman’s chamber he had no relationship with.

“Ah. Princess y/n you’re awake….” He says uncomfortably. You didn’t knew his name, but had been running as a politician for several years.

“I suppose I’m no longer a princess”

“Trials are happening right now, the senate is a disaster but we’re handling it okay. Lucius Verus Aurelius refuses to be crown emperor but he has argued in your favor and you have been found not guilty, but you face conspiracy charges. Consequently, you’re still a princess. And the only person we can rely on according to the law…”

You sigh, looking away from the old man to focus on the tapestry that hangs from a wall. It has a naked woman’s statue in the middle of a garden. A woman being the center of attention.

You were the maximum authority at the moment. But you still had barriers to break.

“What did you do with the corpses of my brothers?” perhaps your siblings weren’t the most lovable people, but you grew up with them. They were your last remaining family.

“Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla rest in the secluded area of the cemetery of Rome. Where the punished are buried…” you nod.

They deserved punishment, but still, an odd sensation in your stomach rested, feeling shame and pity for your brothers.

Where did the good one go? An imaginary little light sparkles upon your eyes.

“And General Acacius?”

“In his Death Will, General Acacius stated that he wanted to be buried alone in one of the islands belonging to Rome” Your eyes water and you have to bite your tongue and gulp to calm your tears.

Where he had wanted to build a home with you.

“His wife Lucilla was buried in the neighbor island upon petition” You nod, trying to sit down. You finally spot the cuts and sewed arm. Fighting Pretorials had been more difficult than participating in the war.

Alongside Marcus…

“I would like to visit his grave. Marcus Acacius’s grave” Your voice sounded broken and you could barely see the man, failing to hide your growing tears.

“There is one problem, princess y/n. Until you’re officially crown empress, you can’t leave Rome and command without being considered charged, despite being not guilty. You must marry first and I’m afraid the only suitor is Lucius Verus Aurelius”

The man that made you feel so much in no time. Who made you feel like you could be for once unconditionally loved. And that maybe Acacius was not your downfall. Maybe you had one more chance to nourish your wounded heart.

You suppress a smile. You want to see him and talk. See if he felt the same way about you and if he did, it would be a new beginning.

“Where is he?” You ask trying to hide your excitement.

“The prince is back in Numidia. He wanted to give a proper burial to his friends and his late wife especially”

The little smile on your face disappears and you look down. Unbeknownst to the man standing in front of you, you felt shame. For believing Lucius would be waiting for you.

“How so?”

“He was given permission to go back with an audience from the council” you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“And why he was allowed to go to territory that is not declared Roman by the law yet…. But I can’t go to an island that is less than four hours away, claimed by the empire hundreds of years ago?”

The man gulps, seemingly uncomfortable by your sudden snapping. Your heart beats in anxiety and the anger increases. The first minutes after you awake you already feel the burden of your new present.

“Because he’s an heir…” to that, you can only sigh. Knowing the real answer.

“And I’m a heiress. I’m… a woman”

Rome was free. But as a woman, you probably never would.

“I suggest you rest and prepare for his arrival, princess. You’ll want to be ravishing to negotiate and assume the wedding”

“I haven’t decided if I’ll marry Lucius Verus Aurelius”

“It’s not like you have much of a choice, princess. I’ll send a doctor to check on you” The bitter tone of the man made you frown. You quietly curse him as he leaves the room.

Finally alone again. Like it seemed it would be for the rest of your life.

You should’ve run faster the first time you tried to escape Rome. You should’ve climbed that wall higher, maybe, just maybe none of your disgraces would’ve happened.

You had to go to Marcus’ grave. You had to say goodbye to him. Tell him all the things you couldn’t say the last time. Because he deserved it. To let him know that no matter where your baby and he were, you would always love them.

Lucius meant nothing, you try to lie to yourself.

I won’t be part of a deal, you remember as you look at the renewed Rome.

Suddenly you realize no matter whom you decide to love, you’re always the lover, not the wife.

Always the second option, never the one.

…

Four days later, you realized you had no other choice but to attend the hearing that would determine your future. Where you would face Lucius. If you had seen him once again before he left, many things could’ve been different, you liked to think.

But given the circumstances, you had no desire to see him again. You barely knew the man, of course, he would choose his wife first even when she was dead.

Your mind betrayed you with the idea of Lucius using you just all those nights to find a way to get out of the Colosseum. No matter what, he didn’t visit you, he didn’t bother to see if you were okay. Likely, he never knew you had fallen ill.

Everyone left you behind.

Happened once as a little girl who fell for her best friend, once as a teenager who fell for an older officer who turned General and once as a young woman who fell for a gladiator and turned out to be a missing prince.

With golden brackets that cover your arms and the heaviest earrings, you nervously walked through the long marble halls of the justice building. Near the temple of the god of war, there rested the place where justice was brought.

A guard opened the door for you and once you stepped in, the room was already full.

Every man inside stood up to greet you with a little reverence and you could feel a migraine already coming.

But when your eyes found a blue pair of aquamarine diamonds looking piercingly at you, the anger mixed with nervousness.

Immediately you look away from the prince. As you took a seat at the end of the long table, you could feel him everywhere. As if Lucius was silently begging for you to look at him.

“We reunite here to revoke any charges and penalties addressed to Prince and Princess; Lucius Verus Aurelius and y/n y/l/n”

You barely hear the man speaking, you were only waiting to hear the next part.

“From the power the senate gave us and by the guidance of the gods, said charges and penalties will be revoked by uniting the prince and princess in sacred marriage. Everyone who agrees says accipio…” everyone says the word, and you close your eyes trying to avoid huffing or ending up screaming in disagreement. Your father ascended to the throne rightfully. Every politician voted for him. When he died your brothers were young and naive and remained as so throughout their rule. Your only crime was to conspire against the empire along with Acacius when he was alive.

All a big nonsense.

“Hear hear, now… Do you Lucius Verus Aurelius agree to the terms of conditions of this agreement?” you look up to see the man. He looked different.

His wounds were healing, his hair looked trimmed, his beard styled. Without sweat, blood, and dirt covering his face, he looked gorgeous. Like an actual prince.

Lucius also looks at you. You can’t tell how he feels, but his eyes look hopeful. And his lips are slightly tilted. Was he trying to smile at you?.

“Accipio…” he says, looking away from you.

Your lips sealed shape a full face of anger.

“Do you y/n y/l/n agree to the terms of conditions of these agreements?”

“I would like to resign to my titles”

Gasps could be heard, and a mixture of shock and disapproval was all over the men at the table.

Lucius looks with curiosity at you. But you can see he’s also shocked.

“Princess y/n… you can’t resign” a man says and you roll your eyes.

“Exile me if needed. I can also recommend a handful of women who would be perfect suitors for Lucius Verus Aurelius” As much as you tried to sound calm, you sounded enraged.

“Then I won’t sign the agreement…” Lucius says looking at the same man who spoke first, then at you.

You eye him with confusion, he crosses his strong arms and he intimidates you with his strong gaze.

“I want you or nothing” he admits with tranquility. Which makes you even angrier. But also make your cheeks turn hot after feeling every man in the room exchange awkward looks.

How could he act so cooky and shameless?

Before you can say another thing, you are interrupted.

“If none of you agree, your charges and penalties will prevail. That would lead to several trials, where both of you could end up with death penalties despite being two rightful heirs”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh.

You’re so tired, drained from everything.

But you won’t give any man the satisfaction to see you crumbling.

Never again…

“You may constrain me all you want, Lucius Verus Aurelius. But you won’t hear what you want from me today”

The poison filling your voice intoxicated everyone, leaving the room flooding with awkwardness and uncertainty. Lucius and you share looks. There’s an odd warmth that makes you remember how good he was when you first met him. He is not a bad man. But you fell in love with him and overrated him so early.

With the silence reigning, the sound of your chair sliding as you stood up drew all the attention to you again. But you didn’t face anyone, you simply left.

The air hit you and you could already feel the tears threatening to spill.

It’s a shame because it seemed like it was a good day for Rome. You can hear kids playing nearby, and people selling goods while the clear sky warmed the afternoon.

“You really don’t know why I want you, y/n?” You hear behind your back, Lucius approaching with heavy steps, making you wipe your eyes before you turn around to see him.

“I would say to gain power. But I know you don’t want that so no… I’m clueless. All I know is I won’t be part of a deal when all my life I’ve lounged for love”

“I can’t believe you don’t remember…” he responds and you frown, disappointed that he has ignored your words. So rudely, you move away, farther from him.

“Who was there when you fell ill after breaking your bones?” your eyes almost pop out, you stop walking only to slowly turn around again and eye him in shock.

“Who was there when you used to escape the palace and needed someone to accompany you back?” Lucius pleads with every word he lets out, he walks towards you and tries to grab your hands but you slip away from his touch, defying him.

In your shock, you can only sigh as memories start reminiscing in your head. A childhood love that couldn’t be. Which involved some feelings you thought had no meaning. But sure they had. More than you wanted to admit as an adult.

Lucius Aurelius Verus was that little boy that you fell in love with as a child. That little boy disappeared without saying goodbye. A boy you thought you’d never see again.

“I left you and resented it all my life, y/n. Now I can be here for you again. Allow me to retrieve the memories we had…” This time you weren’t fast enough to prevent his touch.

He feels warm and at home. His fingers are calloused and his raspy fingertips slowly caress your knuckles. You want to hold him in your arms and cry from happiness. You want to curse him for making you believe he was dead.

But you are selfish after so much pain.

“Why you didn’t say anything when we met again?” You coldly ask, freezing the warmth he has built.

“I needed to know I could trust you first,” he says apologetically.

There’s so much to talk about. Never in your dreams, you thought you’d have the boy you loved once now turned into a man you must marry.

“Please, y/n. We’ll meet each other again, fill the empty promises we made years ago”

“You knew I was alive all this time. Why did you never come for me? We could have escaped. If I had known you were alive, a lot of my suffering could’ve been prevented” he looks away, he feels guilty.

“You married, Lucius. You were happy before Rome conquered Numidia. And I won’t diminish the death of her. But you moved on… like I never existed”

He grabs both of your hands but you move away.

“I thought you were safe. I had no chance of getting you back, that’s why I married. But when I saw you again at the celebration where I had my first fight…” even when he sounds convincingly remorseful, you still keep the distance.

“I don’t care, Lucius. The only thing I want now is to say goodbye to the only love that mattered while you were gone. I can’t visit his grave now for the charges, and when I marry you, I won’t be able to visit his grave because of it. Don’t act like you are not wanting me as your second choice”

If only you knew, Lucius thought as he watched you leave.

…

As a kid, your father would be delighted whenever you danced in the celebrations he hosted. Your brother Geta and Caracalla would sneak in and try to ruin your performance, they weren’t allowed to attend the parties because of their mother; a whore. Your father’s ginger hair had not spread across the twins’ heads and they certainly not looked anything like your mother. There was a snake hidden in the basket of flowers you carried while dancing. But a gentleman realized earlier and as soon as you dropped it because of the bite, he took you to the doctor. And that night you developed a little crush for the officer Marcus Acacius.

Soon you forgot about the older man when you took food and made your way out of the palace. Near the stables, you had found a safe place. Where you always met with who refused to tell you his name.

So you always called him amicus. You could only refer to him as a friend.

“Amicus…” you called him.

Soon he appeared, with burnt blonde hair, blue eyes, and his kind smile.

“What happened to your hand?” he asked pointing at your bandaged extremity.

“Geta and Caracalla placed a snake on my flower basket”

Your friend huffed, clearly annoyed that they tried to hurt you again.

“I wish I could be there, I would always protect you”

You smiled, caressing his face. You were no stranger to his proximity. At the rough age of nine years old, you two had grown a big friendship.

“But you’re always here for me, amicus”

“I won’t be always…” you frowned confused.

That was the last night you saw your friend; Lucius.

You shake your head, pushing aside the memories. Realizing you are once again in a party, but your father is gone. Nobody sits on the throne, your twin brothers are not around to try to banish you. There is no Acacius to help you and you are no longer a kid.

You wonder why Lucilla never told you his son was alive. That he was your best friend. You understand that probably she didn’t trust you enough, given that you looked like you were on your brother’s side most of the time. Although the reality was very different.

Lucius arrived at the celebration with many people trying to talk to him. His tone was kind, but he felt overwhelmed responding to the variety of questions thrown at his face.

Having all the attention resulted in frustration. He was no god and Rome started seeing him as such thing.

He was a humble man, despite growing up knowing he was a prince, he was accustomed to the peaceful farming life in Numidia. He married and thought he would die as a farmer. But even when he finished a rough day of tending his sprouts and counting seeds, mostly he would go to sleep thinking about you.

Lucius never forgot the little girl he found pacing through the secret passages under Rome. Surely he always knew you were a princess, you were alive and well within the walls of the city he grew to hate.

He thought he was correct in never telling you who he really was. He had no chance to say goodbye, he was forced to leave. For a lot of years, he thought he would never be able to fall in love again, but he found a new love.

As soon as he married, he tried to forget about you. And as much as he loved his wife, he always went back to you. Wondering if you were also married, if you remained as beautiful as you were as a kid, or if you missed him like he missed you.

His answers were given to him when he saw you eating figs and softly arguing with one of your red-haired brothers.

Lucius swore his heart stopped a few seconds before he had to fight under the demand of Macrinus. When he recited poetry, he understood you didn’t know who he was. He locked eyes with you for too long, which made you frown and exchange confused looks with Geta.

But he did a good job because you went to visit him later, realizing you knew only half of the truth.

Lucius never stopped loving you.

He watched you twirl around in a purple dress and he couldn’t help but smile. His need to know who you had transformed into was eating him. The curiosity over your love affair with Acacius and how you ended up on the battlefront of war killing him. And he wished nothing buy you to understand that destiny wanted you to be separated but now there was a chance to heal together and be together.

Although it seemed like you were beyond hurt. Only makes Lucius feel guilty for some reason.

A man from the senate reveals to the party you and Lucius are officially engaged and he knows you must be boiling in anger. Lucius tries to go and talk to you. Assure you that he wasn’t involved in the early announcement. He wanted your consent and forcing you would never fix your anger and resentment.

But when he tried to reach you, you were gone. And he knew to where.

To visit Acacius’ grave.

…

With white roses and a dirty cloak, you arrive at the island. Is smaller than you thought. It’s just a hill.

No gold, no ostentatious mausoleum, just a little mark in the middle of the hill that over the centuries would be swallowed by the Earth. There rests Marcus Acacius.

You swallow hard, hoping to get there before your legs betray you and you end up on the grass crying. After hearing the announcement of the engagement, you sprinted out of there making a mess of fury. Your desire to say goodbye to your love would never become a reality. So you took matters into your own hands and risked three hours of absence in Rome.

Each step adds a little more pain to your chest and you want to leave as fast as possible.

But you remain silent, looking at the little plaque.

Not even beloved General of Rome. Just his name.

“I don’t regret saying that I hated you the last time we talked…” you start, biting your cheek from the inside and frowning, competing against the tears that were already coming.

“I closed my eyes so hard to pretend I wasn’t witnessing your death” The chilly air makes you shriek, it also makes some scary sounds as you talk.

“We had a baby, Acacius. I suppose conceived in Athens. He left me hours after you did. I guess he sensed my bad luck…” you coldly say, attempting to joke with the silence.

“Not of importance anymore. I just came to say goodbye. To thank you for training me, and for making me a strong woman. Thank you for loving me the wrong way…”

“You can rest now, Marcus. Your death was worth it, Rome is free. But I’m not…” Finally, your voice breaks and you start sobbing, weeping, and crying so loudly that your lungs hurt.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be strong enough to come back again, Acacius. Your death will always be the loss of my life but our baby is my little hope. To always remind me that I was very close to having you…” with your legs trembling, you stand up and grab the basket. The flowers are gently placed and your tears fall over his name, washing the accumulated dirt.

“I’ll move on. Because I know that’s what you would’ve wanted. I’ll keep your memory alive. And I’ll never love the same way I did with you. You earned it, Marcus. In life and death…”

Dried from all the tears, suddenly you felt less weight on your shoulders. You feel light and in peace.

In that hill would rest the memories of your past, of the love you gave to that General and what could’ve been.

You leave in silence. And when you step foot in the boat again, you have the strength to smile and realize that you don’t care about anything anymore.

The sense of everything comes into question.

Nothing can hurt you anymore.

…

He’s there when you step a foot into the salty shores of Rome. Lucius looks worried. He gives confident steps until he’s facing you.

“You went to that island. Didn’t you?” He asks judging you, which makes you frown.

“I did…”

“Why are you risking yourself? I had to tell everyone you felt ill” You roll your eyes, not handling his words with patience.

“I have nothing to lose, Lucius. I don’t care anymore if I die right now…” he huffs and slides his fingers through his blonde hair, exasperated.

“Why can you understand you’re the one I want? I want you to be safe. But you can’t stop acting like there is no hope left. Why?”

You finally explode.

“BECAUSE I’M HURT!. You know my brothers never loved me, I thought I had you and you disappeared. I spent years in love with Acacius and when he finally looked down at me, he never chose me above your mother. But he wanted to give me a house, a family. I lost him and that night I lost our baby too, I didn’t even know I was with child. And now everyone’s gone, you’re back but I feel like you are just choosing me because you have no choice” Your lungs so tired of your crying make you ache as you end up sobbing once again.

Lucius immediately places his arms around you. And it’s the first hug someone gives you in a long time. So you sob harder and slide your arms to hold him closer.

“I didn’t know… I’m sorry” he whispers in your ear, one of his hands caressing the back of your head, fingers sliding through your hair.

“You’re not my second option. You were always the first. I choose you all or nothing because I couldn’t before. And now that I have you in my arms, I’m never letting you go”

Lucius feels like the home you never experienced but always dreamed of. His words start soothing you. His words feel bigger, like an oath this time. A healed promise of the one he made as a kid.

“When I looked at you again, I remembered that little girl I used to play with. With her dazzling hair and loving eyes” you look away, to the shore. You never liked receiving compliments.

“Look at me…” his fingers grab your chin and gently, he makes you look at him but you close your eyes after briefly meeting his eyes.

Just like the first time, you get lost in his blue irises. Blue like the sea you traveled, like the sea you once thought would be your way to freedom.

“Please look at me, y/n,” he says pleading, with his warm touch you know you won’t be able to oppose any longer.

Slowly you open your eyes and finally accept his gaze.

“You loved another man and I loved another woman. But we had already marked each other’s hearts before we met them”

Slowly, you nod. He smiles and wipes the tears from your eyes. He looks so gorgeous. You know he means every word. Only a man who did everything to save his mother and free a city would make such a big promise to a woman and beg.

You caress his strong jawline, ignoring the way his beard tickles at your fingers. You smile back at him.

“I love you”

Before he could finish, you kissed him.

…

You hadn’t thought back on your love Acacius in months, but that morning you dedicated the bright sky to him. You hope he’s happy for you.

You look at yourself in a mirror and smile at your reflection.

“Are you ready?” Lucius asked entering the room. Your smile grows at the sight of him dressed in gold and a crown in his head. He also eyes your dress and you blush at the way he is mentally undressing you.

Your husband is possessive, kind, brave, and an emperor.

“Stop staring like that…” he looks back at your eyes and it makes you chuckle.

“Come here…” he pleads and when you try to kiss him you both hear a tiny yelp.

“Oh Lucilla, I’m just trying to kiss your father…”

You had birthed a daughter two months ago in Egypt. And was named after Lucius’ mother. She had matted hair the same color as you and she had the blue eyes of his father.

“I’ll get her…” Lucius carried her and leaned to let you look at yourself tiny baby yawning, as she had woken up from a little nap. Her tiny hands flirt fists and her face scrunched in slumber.

She was a winter baby and every citizen of Rome was waiting to meet the daughter of the emperor and empress.

“So fussy like her father…” you claimed, making Lucius roll his eyes at you.

He had grown patient. A perfect partner and father. You felt lucky and blessed to have him. Thinking all the pain was worth it. Your head would now and then think back on what could’ve been if Acacius had survived, and his baby as well.

But you accepted that in this life, he wasn’t meant to be yours. So you prayed to meet him again in the next one. But for now, you were in the arms of your first love.

“I love you, Lucius…” he seemed lightly surprised, as he was the one that says it more often. But he knows he looks so clumsy and in love.

“Not more than me…” you kiss your daughter’s cheek and then your husband, making him softly gasp as you deepen the kiss.

“Don’t do this to me now, y/n…” you giggle, taking the baby from his arms and leading the way towards the door.

“Wait, satis… I know it’s nonsensical to ask at this point but…Do you think I’m being good at this?” Lucius asks pointing at little Lucilla, you sigh, walking back towards him.

“My love, there is no way of being good at this. But if she knows that we love her and that we’ll be here for her forever, is enough…”

He had his doubts a couple of months after the wedding when you got pregnant.

“You don’t know how proud and thankful I am of you. You decided to agree and give me a family after so much pain, satis” You form a smile grin, opting to avoid the memories of your old love. Because that was the past, sacred to you but still the past.

“We deserved it, Lucius.” He nods, taking your free hand.

“I have the feeling that this one will be a boy…” you say pointing at your still-flat stomach.

“Whatever it is… as long as you’re the mother, it’ll be okay”

You both exit the room hand in hand, hearing the excited crowd outside waiting.

_________________

PAUL X PEDRO X READER FIC IS COMING, COMMENT TO BE TAGGED :)

I won’t ever ever ever write a fanfic where a Pedro character dies again. NEVER AGAIN! I don’t care if you think this was cringe, I cried a lot while writing on different days. I love Lucius but in my head Acacius never died, so from now on if I write for him, he WON’T DIE.

[little-fae-hero]

Linked Universe, The hero of the Wild.

My headcanons/aus

Art by Atro Avis

Colored version.

Long talk/Ideas under the cut, warning for losing body parts and memories, and lots of hurt. (Note: I may add stuff over time, but nothing will be deleted from the list)

Time. Twilight. Wind. Legend. Hyrule. Four. Sky. War.

Wild (Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom) (Age of Calamity?). Other Nicknames: The Champion, Arsonist, Cub, the Cook, Chaos, The Lost boy.

Hero Titles: The Champion, the Hero of Hyrule, the Killer of the Calamity, the Failed Hero.

God who has claim over his soul: Demise. (his connection violence and fighting).

Part of First’s soul: Loyalty and Freedom/Curiosity 

Note: Technically he died before his first quest, however his soul is still the same. His body didn’t come back right.

History:

Link belonged to a small family, his father was a knight and his mother was a traveling merchant, oftentimes visiting Zora’s domain for business. Link found himself playing with the Zora princess Mipha and her little brother Sidon. However this changes when Link, only at 11, wanders into the woods and returns with the Master Sword and a new ability he can’t seem to describe. He’s immediately taken into the castle and begins training to be a knight; the boy refuses to speak after that.

The kingdom is warned of the return of the Calamity, and they begin to prepare for it by unearth guardians and divine beasts. This turned out to be the wrong thing to do as the Calamity took over the guardians and divine beasts and killed the other Champions and nearly killed Link. Link could have killed Ganon if he didn’t have control of the guardians. Zelda places Link in the Shrine of Resurrection in an effort to save his life while she went back to hold the Calamity alone. 

Link comes back with absolutely no memory, he doesn’t even know his name (if not for the mysterious voice), and he has a weird metal arm now. However after waking up he meets a friendly wolf who helps him and he ends up naming Wolfie. He frees the Divine beasts, freeing the champions spirits, defeating the Calamity and saving Hyrule and Zelda.

After that…it is unknown, all that Link knows is that his memories have been taken once again, he’s losing years…as if he gave them up. All he knows is that he has a weird stone around his neck, that had helped the burning in his chest to lesson. And a girl, with blond hair, who happily said ‘Link’ before he was stolen alway once again.

Link cannot remember anything, he has faint hints like he’s done something but when he meets the chain, he is completely lost. Most of his story is told by people they meet on the road.

Death. First: The blast from the guardian would have killed him if the soul of the hero spirit refused to die before its quest was over. 

Final: Wild’s soul has worked overtime to keep himself safe. He likely only makes it to late 20s before the soul burns out his body. Either he’ll go peaceful in his sleep or on the roads in his travels.

Interesting stuff/Headcanons:

Wild did not remember anything when he woke up in the shrine (he only knew his name because Zelda told him), everything was mainly muscle memory (hence why he’s so willing to eat bugs and monster parts)

However he did wake up crying, he has no idea why.

He lost an eye and an arm during his first death, they were replaced with sheik tec, one infused to his very soul so they cannot be taken over by the Malice.

The lost limbs are on his right side, the side he uses to hold a sword, draw a bow, it was intentional on the calamities part, to keep the enemy alive but no way to fight back.

He will randomly cry, or suddenly feel a wave of strong emotions, he doesn’t know why.

Almost every weapon feels comfortable in Link’s hands, and if not a weapon he can make it into a weapon.

He has a natural curiosity he just can’t seem to shake, something in his bones screams at him to be in nature and explore.

His blood is now off, it seemingly looks and glows that sheikah blue.

Because of his arm now cooler or hotter temperatures affect him more than when he was alive 100 years ago, he has to dress for the weather or else his health takes a big hit.

Once meeting a group or person, it takes him a long time to admit his opinions or the things he likes/wants to do.

Food is such a big comfort to Wild, he doesn’t know why, but it always brings a smile to his face, even the food that must hold memories as they make tears escape.

The Sheika slate abilities are also linked to Wild’s metal hand, however he doesn’t like to use them since they make his arm feel weird.

He has some other weird abilities, like a manipulation with time and combining weapons, but he doesn’t understand them like the ruins. Which just seems to come naturally, though he is learning (through trial and error).

All the yelling before his death fried Wild’s vocal cords so it takes him a while to actually talk again. (He prefers to sign)

Wild has a tendency to lie to people. Mainly he hates seeing people upset when he doesn’t remember them.

He actually met Demise before, it’s why the triforce of power still burns within him.

There’s a freedom that came with his lost memories, he only admits to Wolfie that sometimes he wishes he didn’t remember, even the faintest hint just bring heartache.

Of course he gets the abilities from saving the champion's spirits. However these are helping to cause his body to burn out.

They have to cool down otherwise it feels like hot lava settling in his chest.

After joining the group, he keeps trying new stuff from blacksmithing to woodcarving. Trying to find a possible old hobby or something to bring him comfort.

Wild takes to photographing a lot of stuff, mainly because he knows memories escape him at times and he wants to remember the other Links.

Wild knew he should have been angry when Wolfie turned out to be Twi. However, having someone to talk to and care about him was worth it.

Wild has this weird stone necklace, he doesn’t know how he got it, all he knows is it helps his bullet time without making his heart hurt.

Wild is used to Twilight almost babying him at times, doesn’t mean he won’t get into trouble.

Wild doesn’t have much of an impulse control (that’s Twi’s job).

The champion's souls have realized something bad is happening to Wild’s soul. And they're trying to help.

Early in his adventure Wild has bad PTSD from the guardians. It’s only later he’s able to face them.

Wild is able to talk to spirits and other stuff that most people can’t see (dragons, the statues, etc). Wild of course doesn’t say anything, mainly cause he doesn’t think people will believe him.

He somewhat resents the Master sword because pulling it took away his naive childhood.

He was about 16 when he died the first time. His body is now physically 17ish.

Wild's first adventure freeing the Divine beast took about 7 months, so he’s likely 18 now. (Tears of the Kingdom only happens like a month after BOTW)

Wild can speak a very old language that was spoken to him while he slept, only Sky and Time has heard it before.

Wild is very much trying to figure out who he is and what he wants to do with his life (he is unaware of the time limit).

Wild has no idea why blue is the color associated with the hero here, the only hero to wear blue is Wind and he states that those are his everyday clothes (better for the weather then his green).

He swore he’s seen a being with Time’s face markings before, and he’s seen another with the overwhelming energy that War has when he battles. And he’s seen the same gold on Legend faintly on Zelda.

——

Soo as you can guess, I'm actually completing rewriting Tears of the Kingdom lore for this au. I feel like there's a lot more to play around with.

[scarletemeterio]

hii, saw u wanted arcane requests. from what ive seen on tiktok, apparently jinx was able to escape after the explosion in the very last episode and survived and ran away on that blimp thing, so could u please write a jinx x fem reader where after the explosion, jinx comes to get reader and they run away together happily to another region to have a fresh start and have a quiet, peaceful life. 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼 pls and thank you.

A Fresh Start (Jinx x Gn!reader)

Warnings: mentions of death, use of (Y/N) once

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Fandom: Arcane

Summary: see request

Word Count: 1.6k

No set pronouns for reader

•••

You still remembered every detail, every word said, replaying the moment in your head. You'd had a fight with Jinx, nothing serious you'd thought, but when she and Ekko found you, you could see the pain in her eyes. She came running to you, wrapping her arms around your neck.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean all those things I said,” she apologized, her voice breaking. “You've always been there for me, and I've been ungrateful about that.”

You hugged her tightly, with your arms surrounding her waist, hiding your face in her shoulder.

“It's okay, it doesn't matter now,” you mumbled. “Are you okay?” You asked, breaking apart and caressing her face.

She simply nodded, but you could read her like an open book, and you knew that there was something she wasn't telling you.

Before you could keep questioning her, Ekko decided to speak.

“I hate to interrupt the sweet moment and everything, but we have to hurry if we wanna survive,” he said. You gave him a confused look, slowly breaking your embrace with Jinx.

“Yeah, the world is basically about to end,” the girl said. And both she and the boy tried their best to give you all the information you needed, trying to come up with a plan.

When you were almost finished with the globe, Jinx pulled you apart for a moment, wanting to talk to you.

“I really am sorry about before," she started saying, “I just couldn't think straight at the moment and I took it out on you.”

“Hey, I said it was okay and I meant it,” you comforted her, grabbing her hand.

“I just don't want us to be on bad terms, we don't know what could happen out there,” she whispered, trying to hold back her tears.

“We're not on bad terms, okay? Don't worry about that, my love,” you answered, not wanting to think about the worst case scenario.

“Thank you for not giving up on me, (Y/N), I'm so lucky to have met you. You mean the world to me, and I love you so much.” Tears were already falling down her cheeks, making it hard to contain yours too.

“I love you, too, baby.” You pressed your foreheads together, closing your eyes to better savour the moment. “Don't worry, we're gonna be okay,” you tried to reassure her. “I'm not saying today will be easy, but we'll make it, and soon this will all be just a dark moment from the past.”

She wrapped her arms around your neck once again, not being able to control her sobs anymore. You were taken aback from the sudden action and her reaction. Her embrace was tight and almost filled with dread, almost as if she was certain something bad would happen. You decided to get those thoughts out of your head. Danger was knocking at the door, and you couldn't ignore it anymore; the moment to fight had come.

When you got to the fight scene, Vi quickly joined you, and so did Vander. Ekko took control of the globe, making it crash into the building, knocking the air out of your lungs. When you finally got back on your feet, you quickly went to help Vi and Jinx against Vander, but a hard blow at you was the last thing you remembered before losing consciousness.

You had no idea how long you were out of it. Ekko's figure was the first thing you saw when you woke up, and he helped you sit down slowly.

“Hey, easy there,” he said. “You got hit pretty badly.”

“I'm fine,” you groaned. “Where’s Jinx?” He ignored your eyes, tilting his head. “Ekko?”

He only had to look at you, and you could instantly feel the world crumble around you. Tears quickly flooded your eyes, still looking at the boy in front of you.

“Tell me it's not what I'm thinking,” you pleaded.

“She sacrificed herself to save Vi.”

You closed your eyes, letting the tears roll down your cheeks. You wanted it to be some sick joke, for her to get into the room and tell you that it wasn't true, that she was fine and you didn't have to worry about anything. But you knew her, and you knew something felt off about her in that last conversation you had. Turns out something bad did end up happening.

•••

Not many days had passed, the pain still fresh. You were lost in your thoughts, staring at the city in front of you. You were in the spot Ekko had shown you not long ago, trying to find a bit of peace in contrast to the mess in your head.

Life in Zaun was very unpredictable, which made it difficult to make long-term plans, but also made it easy to not get attached to anything nor anyone. But Jinx was the exception. You just couldn’t stop yourself from getting attached to her, and now you were suffering the consequences.

To be honest you wouldn’t really change anything, not even the pain you were feeling right now. Changing things would mean not even getting to know her, and you were grateful to have met her, to share your life with her. You were simply paying life’s price for love.

You suddenly felt a presence behind you, but you kept your gaze to the front.

“I'd really like to be alone, Ekko,” you said, assuming that the boy had come to check on you.

“I'm not Ekko.”

You froze in place. You had to be hallucinating, it had to be the only explanation. She was gone, and nothing would change that. You shook your head in disbelief, looking up at the sky.

“I'm even hearing her voice now,” you said. You could feel that presence even closer now, and you quickly grew frustrated with what you thought was your own mind. “Leave me alone!” You screamed, turning to the presence behind you and freezing once again when you finally saw her.

“Hey, it's me,” she whispered.

You quickly got up, never breaking eye contact.

“But- You- How?” It was all you could say, barely whispering, still not truly believing what you were seeing. She was right there.

“I guess being injected with crazy amounts of shimmer to keep me from dying had its perks,” she explained almost jokingly, trying to lighten up the mood. “I managed to escape the explosion.”

“But I don't understand. Why didn't you come back right away? Why let us believe you were dead?” You had a million questions in your head, and you could feel your heart beating like crazy.

“I needed everyone to believe it, to have a fresh start. Vi would never give up on me if she knew I was still alive; she'd follow me to the end of the world.”

You still kept your distance from her, it all seemed unreal. A few minutes ago you were grieving her, and now she was right in front of you, as beautiful as ever. But you felt anger inside you as well. She could've told you, she could've saved you from that horrible pain of thinking she was actually gone for good.

“You knew you were gonna fake it all along, didn't you?” You realized, thinking about that last conversation you two had. “That's why you were so emotional, so shaken and distressed.”

“Baby, I-.”

“You knew, right?” You interrupted her, voice cracking with your words.

“I did.”

You closed your eyes. You didn't really know when you'd started crying, but the tears kept falling down your face.

“You let me believe you were dead, Jinx! Dead!” You didn't even try to hide how emotionally distressed you were. You needed to let everything out. The blue-haired girl broke the distance between you two, holding you in her arms while you sobbed into her chest, quickly collapsing to the ground.

“I'm so sorry, baby. I made a mistake and I should've told you,” she said while running her hand through your hair. You could tell by her voice that she was also crying, filled with guilt. “I'm sorry, please forgive me.”

“I get why you did it,” you told her after a while. “I don't blame you for wanting peace, but you have no idea how much it hurt me to think that I'd lost you.”

She cupped your face and made eye contact with you before pressing your foreheads together. “I'm sorry,” she repeated, feeling like she could never say it enough times to express just how much she regretted not letting you know before.

“I'm just glad you're actually okay, love.” You leaned in to her touch, savouring the moment after such turmoil.

She gave you a kiss on your forehead before speaking.

“I want you to come with me,” she uttered.

“Come where?” You questioned.

“I don't know, away from here,” she replied. “I really want that fresh start, but I know that trying to live without you would be absolute hell. I've had many uncertainties in my life, but you just feel right. If there's something I'm sure of is that I love you, with every part of me.”

“I love you, too,” you told her. “And I'd also follow you to the end of the world.” You let out a hopeful smile, and so did she before cupping your face to kiss you.

Her lips against yours felt absolutely right, like it was just the way it had to be, forever and ever. You belonged together, and there was nothing you wanted more than to build a future with her, away from all the ghosts from the past. You knew it wouldn't be easy, both of you had a lot to let go of but with her by your side everything felt a bit easier, and for the first time in a long time, you felt hopeful.

•••

i absolutely loved this request, thank you anon! i'm a sucker for angst

also i'm 100% sure she's still alive

[clare-875]

Summer (Ace x Reader)

_____ Pairing: Ace x Female Reader Description: Summer was the only time you avoided Ace's touch, much to his dismay. Warnings: Fluff, Clingy Ace [One Piece Masterlist] _____

You adore your personal heater more than anyone in the world. In the depths of cool winters, the blizzards amplified by the ocean's relentless winds, he is heaven on your skin. The ardency that seeps within you slowly, and his strong embrace that forces it to remain is like no other feeling than that of comfort and utter warmth. It's in the swift movement of his hand as he goes to reach for yours that lay on your side. It's in the quiet envelopments of his form on your own as you try to go about doing your daily tasks. It's in the privacy of chambers; the hands that roam your skin, his soft lips touching yours. It's him, feverous, addictive, warm and completely in love with you. You adore him, him and his warmth; his heat.

Just maybe not now... in the middle of a fucking heat wave.

If there is ever a time Ace loathes, it is the depths of summer. When the glowering sun once brought contentment as it gifted countless days of youth spent playing and swimming and running, it now brought only the feeling of dread. It was now known to him as a time when you would dodge the embracement of your form within his, something you usually love; something he now desperately craves. His devil fruit powers confine him of you, as now he can only watch wistfully and with a fierce flush on his face as you join other members of the crew in the crisp cool ocean; adorned in a bikini he could only regard safely ashore. It was a time that limited your touch and it was a time that limited your presence, things that Ace would literally cling to for all his life if he could. Ace didn't care if he was being overdramatic, because it was true, and it was here: summer.

He would hate anything that takes you from him.

It was now reaching midnight, and the bed was bare. You wore clothes that scarcely covered your form, trying to find sleep in fitful increments. Ace, though the only member of the crew who could not complain about the heat, found himself the same way. He had endured your absence from beside him for eons it seemed, even if it had only been the past week. He was used to cradling your form to his, to find peace in your scent and your heartbeat, but now it was taken from him, like everything summer seems to take from him. He has now given up on rest and his sullen eyes now look to you. He sees the sweat rise from your skin, sees you turn relentlessly trying to find a moment's comfort in the retched heat. Ace feels a sinking weight within him, as though by no means his fault, he wishes to take your discomfort away just as much as he wants you by his side once more.

"I can feel you watching me."

Ace perks up at your words and meets your gaze now half-awake as you look to him. Ace pouts and you are surprised to see genuine hurt in his irises. "C'mon [y/n], it's been so long already, just let me touch you." You pause for a moment before letting out a breathless laugh of disbelief. "No way, do you see how much I'm struggling here?" You hear him whine out in frustration, pout deepening as he tries to get you to give in and join his side of the bed. Despite usually having given in to his demands, you being weak to his puppy-like stare, you cannot tonight. The heat is like a furnace and it makes you feel like you can't escape your own sweat; your own fever. It touches you wherever you go and it was nothing like Ace's embrace during winter, it was mulled and murky and impossible to escape.

"Please~" Ace is now frowning more deeply, whining like a child at your stubborn form laying still in place. "No, no way, you'll be the death of me." You say lightly, rolling your eyes at his behaviour, but you would be an idiot not to see his actual desperation, more the pure obviousness of it. It almost made you laugh once more. You weren't the only one who noticed Ace's blatant pent-up and forlorn form as you dodge and maneuver his touch. Members of the crew had also seen and had taken the chance to tease the second division commander much to his embarrassment. "But I'm the one actually dying here," Ace says glumly, "my own girlfriend doesn't want to cuddle with me." You sigh deeply but remain rooted to your spot, away from the heater that hopes to embrace you. "I promise there'll be cuddles after this bloody heat wave."

Ace groans sleepily but is torn between giving you your comfort and allowing his selfish tendencies to win. You, observing his frustrated state, sigh once more but decide to gently reach out. He is surprised when he feels your prying hand take one of his own on his side. As expected there is an instant warmth to his touch that adds to the heat already clinging to your skin, but you decide you would sacrifice one hand for the sake of him. Ace feels his heart flooding with a different type of warmth with the familiarity of your soft hand within his; the touch that he so craved. He grins widely and gives your hand a light squeeze. "This is all I'm willing to give right now." You say through a yawn, as somehow his mere touch and warmth are enough to help lull away the uncomfortable heat of the world around you. "You know, you would feel so much better if you just agreed to sleep nake-" You yank harshly at Ace's hand who yelps out before letting out a breathless laugh, grinning at the feeling of your "forgotten" touch.

Nevertheless when the heat-crazed week passed and the beginnings of clouds finally touched the sky, Ace not once let you out of his embrace. It was much to the further amusement of the crew as they shouted and teased him of his enamoured state. A week ago Ace would release you of his form to chase and silence the teasing, but he found himself uncaring as he felt the warmth of you. You, struggling to get through the day with the distraction of him sigh but in his contentedness let him be. At least, until the sun's rays become too much once more and you dodge his desperate touch. Ace could not wait for fall to reach the air and rid of the gruelling summer. Most of all he couldn't wait for the cool touch of Winter and ironically your desperate touch as it brought the constant presence of you.

[yikes-aemond]

I love you. It's ruining my life. (Part IV)

pairing: Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!fem!reader (no descriptions of reader except that she wears dresses and has long hair)

warnings: canon typical violence, cursing, death 

summary: You and Benjicot Blackwood plan for the future. Things don’t quite go as planned. 

word count: 5.1k 

author note: Thank you all so much for your patience! I will not lie—this part was a struggle to write. I think I rewrote it at least three times, and I am still not sure if I’m absolutely satisfied. Fair warning, I’m putting our lovebirds through the ringer, but do not worry—I’m a girl who loves a happily ever after. Also, no smut in this part, but stick around for part five. Happy reading!

part i can be found here, part ii here, and part iii here.

“Have you lost your mind?” 

You could not have heard him correctly. Surely Benjicot Blackwood had not just asked you to marry him, while you were half naked. 

You hurried to adjust your dress and cover yourself in a desperate attempt to establish some sense of dignity and propriety in this moment. Had you not been overwhelmed by the day, had you not been so taken off guard, you might have responded a little more kindly to a proposal from your beloved.

Benjicot laughed as he watched you try to gather your wits about you. He followed your direction, adjusting his breaches so that everything was tucked back into its proper place.

Once you were both decent, Benjicot reiterated, “I am quite serious. We should marry this evening.”

You shook your head, mind racing as you tried to comprehend what he was saying, what he was asking. For years, you had watched Benjicot from afar. Watched the way he grew into a man, into someone that people feared and respected in equal measure. Being with Benjicot was always your dream. The one you had tucked away in your heart for years, never to see the light of day should you dare to do the most dangerous thing in all of Westeros—hope. 

And now he was asking you to marry him. You felt unbalanced, unsteady. Your head and your heart were at war. 

You managed to get off the bed. Needing a moment to collect yourself, you put some distance between you and Benjicot and moved back across the room to the fireplace. 

When you turned back to Benjicot, you saw that he had not moved. His eyes were fixed on you, that predatory gaze locked onto your form, waiting for your response. 

That look in his eyes never failed to make you squirm. The weight of that stare made you think he could hear every thought in your head, all your secrets and dreams. 

You sighed, breaking eye contact and said, “You know that our families will never allow it.”

Benjicot stood then, and slowly stalked toward you. With each step, you felt your heartbeat pound louder against your chest. You had thought that the longer you spent in his presence, the more you would become used to him. But you could not deny the effect Benjicot had on you, on your body. 

Benjicot took your hands in his, and pulled you against him. Placing your hands on his chest, he rubbed his thumbs over the scrapes you had gotten earlier in the woods. Had that only been this morning? Time seemed to hold no meaning in this room. A prison that now felt like a sanctuary. 

“That is why we must marry tonight.” Benjicot smiled, and then placed a kiss on your brow. “By the time they find out, it will be too late.” 

You pulled back, just enough so that you could look at his face. “And do your really expect your father and Black Aly to welcome me into the family with open arms?” 

Benjicot was still smiling, still so sure of his plan. “They will once they see how happy we are. How much we love each other.” He shrugged before continuing, “And we would not be the first Blackwoods and Brackens to marry. Others have done it in the name of peace.”

“But our families do not seek peace now!” You practically shouted, frustration coloring your tone. “We are on the brink of war, and our families stand on opposite sides.”

You tried pulling away, but Benjicot tightened his arms around you, stilling your struggle. Whatever good humor Benjicot had was slowly leaching from his features. “You know as well as I do that Queen Rhaenyra is the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.”

You closed your eyes and took a steadying breath.“Of course I agree with you, but that does not change the fact that my father will disown me if we do this. I will never be able to return home.”

Benjicot pressed another kiss to your temple and whispered against your skin,“Would that be such an awful thing?”

You felt your heart jerk at his question. The idea of never seeing your family again, of never being welcomed home, of never eating your cook’s fruit pies or riding through the moorlands outside of Stone Hedge on a misty morning, or gods never visiting your mother’s gravestone, was enough to send a wave of nausea through you. 

You hid your face against his chest. “My father was not always the most loving, but he is my father. For all the faults you may find with him, he has never been cruel to me.” 

Benjicot felt the shift in your mood, could practically feel the sadness and desperation radiate from the points where you touched. He knew the sacrifice he was asking you to make was no small thing. He rubbed his hands up and down your arms, trying to comfort the turmoil within you. 

You could not stop the tears even if you wanted to. You did not wail, did not scream at the unfairness of your situation, did not rail against the old gods and the new for cursing your families and subjecting them to an endless blood feud. For what else could this ancient, hateful grudge between the Blackwoods and Brackens be except for a curse? 

Even if you could convince your father to bless a marriage between you and Benjicot, any children between you would be enlisted to the war. Generations of prejudice had proven that. It was no matter that the Bracken or Blackwood on the other side would be a cousin. No matter that no one could remember how the hatred between your two families even began. No matter how senseless the bloodshed would be. 

This was your and Benjicot’s world. You could not run from the truth of your situation, could not hide from your fates. Not if you wanted your love to withstand.

And even though the thought of never going back to Stone Hedge was devastating, the thought of never seeing Benjicot again was unthinkable. Never hearing his voice or his laugh. Never seeing his smiles. Never having him hold you in his arms. You could not bear the separation, not after having a taste of what your life could be like together. 

Your tears slowed and your breathing evened out. Whatever doubts that had plagued your mind were banished. Resolution steeled your spine. You took a fortifying breath and lifted your head from Benjicot’s chest. With a watery smile on your face, you said, “I accept your proposal, Benjicot Blackwood.”

Benjicot’s joy was infectious. Smiling wide and bright, he lifted you into his arms and kissed you with such a reverence that left your breathless. Gods, you loved this man. Wanted him again and could not imagine ever being parted from him. The very thought of being separated was enough to send a panic through you. 

You wrapped your arms around Benjicot’s neck and tangled your hands in his hair, your tongue in his mouth. You felt his joy in that kiss. And you let that joy into your heart. Let it fill and warm you. In this moment, you allowed yourself to be happy. 

The impossible dream was becoming a reality. 

When Benjicot had proposed, he did not have an actual plan. He did not have any rings or a marriage cloak. As a Blackwood, he preferred to have a ceremony before the old gods in front of the ancient, colossal weirwood tree in the godswood. 

Because there were no clergy associated with the old gods, the current Lord Blackwood usually performed marriage ceremonies at Raventree Hall. But seeing as his father would likely oppose the marriage, that left Benjicot with few options. With a little convincing, or in Benjicot’s case, a little threat of bodily harm, the maester finally agreed to perform the ceremony. 

You could not stop smiling as Benjicot snuck you out of your rooms. With each passing hallway and corridor, you felt your excitement grow. You could barely contain your glee as you clung to each other, arms linked and hands intertwined, as you made your way into the godswood.  

The maester stood before the weirwood tree, with only the moonlight and a few lanterns to light the way. Hundreds of ravens were to be your witnesses. On any other night, feeling the weight of all those eyes watching you might have felt unsettling. But nothing could spoil this moment, nothing could come between you and Benjicot— 

“What in the Seven Hells do you think you’re doing?” 

Every muscle in your body tensed. Panic settled in your chest, and you felt your stomach drop. 

Black Aly stood at the edge of the godswood, her bow and arrow knocked and poised to strike.  

You felt the world shift. One moment you were standing beside Benjicot, and the next, Benjicot stood in between you and Aly, putting himself in the way of the arrow that had been aimed at your chest. 

“Lower the bow, Aly.” Benjicot’s voice was hard and low. You watched as he moved his hand to the hilt of his dagger, ready to draw the blade at any moment. 

Even from a distance, you could see Aly roll her eyes at Benjicot’s actions, but she did not lower her bow. “Do not overwork yourself, nephew.” 

You grabbed the back of Benjicot’s cloak, pulling slightly as if to hold him back. You glanced wearily back and forth between the Blackwoods. Two warriors preparing to battle. The last thing you wanted was for there to be violence. For surely a duel between Bloody Ben and Black Aly would be a fight for the ages. 

Benjicot’s body was tense as yours. He did not truly believe that Aly would hurt you. Aly was tough but fair, and underneath her brash attitude and hostility, she had a gentle heart. But he would not risk you. Would not allow anyone to threaten or harm you. Not when he had the ability to protect you. 

Benjicot pulled out his dagger. “Put the bow away, Aly. I will not ask again.”

You wanted to step in between them like you had done in the fight with Aeron. But this situation was different. This was two Blackwood who were taking the measure of each other, testing how far the other was willing to go. You could not intervene, even if the sight of an arrow pointed at Benjicot was enough to send your blood running cold. 

After what felt like hours, Aly lowered her bow. Sighing, she returned the arrow to her quiver. Only then did Benjicot sheath his dagger. 

“You sure have a flare for the dramatics, nephew.”

Now it was Benjicot’s turn to roll his eyes. “Says the woman who had an arrow aimed at my betrothed.”

Your heart fluttered at the word. 

Aly huffed out a laugh. “Is that what she is to you? Your betrothed? I do not recall your father agreeing to any such arrangement.” 

Benjicot remained in front of you, a barrier between you and Aly. “I asked for her hand, and she accepted.”

Aly stood with her hands on her hips, eyes directed toward the heavens. She looked as if she were searching for patience amongst the stars. When she cut her gaze back to Benjicot, you could not miss the look of pity that flashed across her face. 

“Benji, you know that you cannot marry her.” 

You reached for Benjicot’s hand, needing his touch and warmth to ground you in this moment. Whatever happiness you had felt, whatever joy that you had shared, was now slowly falling through your grasp. 

Black Aly would never allow you two to marry. Not like this. 

But Benjicot’s stubbornness was no light thing. “I love her, Aly. I will marry her, and you cannot stop me.”

Just as Aly was about to respond, you saw her face pale and expression grow uneasy. And when you heard the voice behind you, you understood why. 

“You would be wise to reconsider that position, son.” 

If you had thought you felt panic before, that was nothing to the sickening feeling that plagued you now. 

Because standing on the opposite side of the godswood, directly across from Aly, was Lord Samwell Blackwood. Benjicot’s father, and your own father’s sworn enemy. And with him stood a dozen Blackwood guards, each looking between you and Benjicot with expressions that ranged from disbelief to disgust. 

You had never been formally introduced to Lord Blackwood. He was a rather tall man, with hair as black as a raven’s wing. His close-cropped beard was the same. Like Benjicot, his gaze was enough to send a lesser man cowering. And right now that gaze was cold and enraged and fixed on you and Benjicot. 

If Benjicot had not been holding your hand, you would have been trembling. The two of you were trapped. 

“Are you so eager to start a war, Benjicot?” Lord Blackwood asked, his tone was like ice. “For some Bracken wench?” 

You felt Benjicot’s hand tighten around yours, almost to the point of pain. One glance at Benjicot told you that he was furious. His glare held that feral edge, and he was close to snarling. Bloody Ben was backed into a corner, and he looked itching for a fight. Even if that fight was against his own father.

“You will mind how you speak about my lady, father.” Had you not been so fearful for your life and his, you would have thought that declaration rather romantic. 

Lord Blackwood did not look impressed. “Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you and your lady have brought to our door, Benjicot?” 

“We wish to marry, father.” Benjicot glanced at you as he said, “We love each other.” 

A long suffering sigh escaped from Lord Blackwood as he motioned for his men to stand down. “That does not change the fact that she is a Bracken. You cannot simply marry her without expecting there to be consequences.”

“I am prepared to accept any consequence if it means we can be together.” The surety in Benjicot’s tone was enough to ease the fear that had gripped you since you had been discovered. You could help but give him a small smile. 

A smile that Lord Blackwood did not miss. “And you, Lady Bracken?” Lord Blackwood sneered. “Are you prepared to face the consequences of this marriage? Your father will seek retribution for this little act of rebellion. Are you prepared to have blood on your hands?” 

Now you were the one who squeezed Benjicot’s hand. Lord Blackwood terrified you, and so did his words. You did not wish to be the cause of another fight between the Blackwoods and the Brackens, did not want to send anyone to their death because you fell in love with someone who was never meant to be yours. 

Benjicot nudged his shoulder against yours, offering you what strength he could. With him standing at your side, you found the courage to meet Lord Blackwood’s gaze. “Whatever trials and tribulations may come our way, Lord Blackwood, I am prepared to meet them with Benjicot as my lord husband.” 

Even without looking at him, you could feel Benjicot’s eyes on you as you held your own against his father. Could feel how proud he was of you for defending your future together. 

Taking another breathe, you could not help but add, “You speak of my hands becoming bloody,  but I could not think of anything more fitting for a woman betrothed to Bloody Ben Blackwood.” 

The silence in the godswood was deafening. 

Every person and creature seemed to be holding their breath for Lord Blackwood’s response. You did not dare break eye contact with him, determined to hold your ground and prove yourself worthy of being Benjicot’s wife. 

Lord Blackwood finally moved his gaze from you and back to Benjicot. “We will treat with Lord Bracken tomorrow. Offer him a parley. You will ask his permission to marry his daughter. You will accept his decision, no matter what he says.” 

“Father! You know he will not—”

But Lord Blackwood had heard enough. Holding up his hand, he demanded silence. “Those are my terms, Benjicot. Be grateful I am allowing this much.” 

A weariness had settled over Lord Blackwood’s features. Although he was still a man in his prime, in that moment, he looked aged and tired. As he turned to leave the godswood, he said, “We stand on the brink of war. The Targaryens are at each other’s throats since King Viserys passed. Soon House Blackwood will be asked to choose a side, and you have allowed your foolish heart to guide your choices.” 

You could tell Benjicot wanted to protest, wanted to push back on his father’s orders. He knew as well as you did that convincing your father to allow the two of you to marry was going to take an act of the gods. 

And even though Benjicot knew when to pick his battles, knew when he had lost a fight, he could not help but have the last word. “There are worse things to be guided by than one’s heart, father.” 

Benjicot’s words gave Lord Blackwood pause. For a moment, you thought he might respond, might reprimand Benjicot for his lack of respect. Only when Lord Blackwood continued walking out of the godswood did you feel like you could breathe again. 

The Blackwood guards followed their ledge lord, leaving you, Benjicot, and Aly in the presence of the ravens. You could have collapsed from exhaustion. You felt wrung out from the day. Too much had happened in such a short period of time, and your body was protesting. 

Aly approached and stopped just short of you and Benjicot. “Well, that did not quite go as I expected.”

Benjicot rounded on Aly, and with animosity in his voice, he asked, “Why did you stop us?”

Aly stared at Benjicot like he had grown a second head. “We’re trying to prevent a war, Benji. Had the two of you married, Bracken would have shown up here with a thousand men seeking your head. You might love each other, but is that love really worth the lives of hundreds? Thousands?” 

“You are overreacting—”

Aly shoved at Benjicot’s chest. “And you are being an idiot! Use your head, Benji. If you had married in secret, the Brackens would have stopped at nothing to avenge that insult. You know that, even if you are too blind to see it.” 

With a softer tone, Aly continued, “Be grateful your father is supporting you in this. He could have just as easily returned her to Stone Hedge. You have a chance.”

Benjicot scoffed. “A chance? Do you really believe—”

“Enough.” You cut Benjicot off before he could say another word. You took his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. “My father may hate Blackwoods, but he is not unreasonable. We will convince him.” 

You could tell that Benjicot was struggling to control his temper. He was still running hot from the confrontation with Aly and his father. Bloody Ben was lingering too close to the surface. You pulled his face toward yours and pressed a kiss to his lips. Nothing more than a gentle peck, but enough to distract him. 

When you pulled back, you could see that some of the edge had worn off. Benjicot’s face was calmer, less hostile. “I love you, Benjicot Blackwood. I do not plan to give you up without a fight.” 

Benjicot smiled at your words, the soft smile he reserved just for you. He wrapped his arms around you, tucking you under his chin. “My brave girl. I pity any man who would dare cross you.”

You held each other for a moment before Aly cleared her throat. “If you two are finished, I’m going to escort little Bracken back to her rooms.” 

With a quick kiss to your head, Benjicot released you and said, “Sleep well, my lady.” 

You did not want to leave Benjicot, but you knew there was no way Aly was going to let you stay with each other. As you followed her out of the godswood, you could not help but take one last look at Benjicot. 

You nearly stumbled when you saw him. Beneath the ancient weirwood tree, bathed in moonlight and surrounded by ravens, stood Benjicot. His head bowed as if in prayer. 

You did not have to guess what he was praying about. You only hoped that the old gods were listening. 

The only neutral territory acceptable to both the Blackwoods and the Brackens were the boundary stones near the old windmill. The day was overcast and cold, with the wind tearing through the cloak Aly had lent you.

Aly had not left your side since collecting you from your rooms that morning. You and Benjicot had been kept separated for the entire journey. You had asked for him, begged Aly to allow you two a moment alone, but she had refused. Lord Blackwood was keeping both she and Benjicot on a tight leash until this matter was settled. 

To say you were nervous was an understatement. You had tossed and turned the entire night, too anxious to close your eyes for fear of what your dreams may hold. You might have been confident with Benjicot the night before, but in truth, you had no idea how to convince your father to allow you to marry. 

The Brackens had arrived first. 

A host of about fifty men had gathered on their side of the boundary stones. A sea of red and gold with a few horses scattered in the mix. You did not miss how all the men were armed with swords at the ready. 

And in the front, seated atop his favorite war horse and adorned in battle leathers, was Amos Bracken. Your father.  

Amos Bracken was not as tall or built as Samwell Blackwood, but you knew your father to be a proficient swordsmen and respected fighter in his own right. You had no doubt that should this come to blows, he would hold his own. 

Aeron stood beside him. A united front against their perceived enemies. And while your father’s face was blank of all emotions, calm and controlled, Aeron’s disdain for the Blackwoods was clear for all to see. 

The Blackwood host equalled that of the Brackens’. You had ridden to the neutral ground on the back of Aly’s horse. You had tried to spot Benjicot all morning, but there were too many men, too much chaos. The closer you got to the boundary stones, the more you felt Aly tense in front of you. 

When you finally stopped, Aly directed you to the front of the vanguard. She had drawn her bow the moment your feet hit the ground. 

Your first sight of Benjicot sent your heart thumping. His dark hair was mussed, as if he had run his hand through it multiple times. But that was the only sign that Benjicot felt uneasy. His posture was relaxed, and his mouth was fixed in a smirk, like this meeting was an every day occurrence. He showed no fear. 

Aly stopped you slightly behind and to the right of Benjicot. You saw the moment when your father and Aeron spotted you. Your father’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Aeron’s face twisted into a mix of shock and disbelief. 

You swallowed down the fear and anxiety. Swallowed down the nausea that threatened to upend your breakfast. Swallowed down any uncertainty you felt. You had to present a strong front to your father and his men. Otherwise, they would pounce on any hesitation and demand that you be returned home. 

Lord Blackwood broke the silence first. “Amos. A pleasure as always.”

“Cut the shit, Blackwood,” Lord Bracken snarled, “and return my daughter to me.” 

The words were not unexpected. You tensed as Aeron shifted his hand to the sword at his side, stomach twisting as he gripped the hilt. 

You exhaled a long breath and fixed your gaze on your father. “I am well, father. The Blackwoods have treated me kindly.”

Lord Bracken’s face darkened, and you instantly regretted speaking. “I do not want to hear a single word from you.”

Your cheeks flamed at the dismissal, but you refused to lower your eyes. Refused to cower before your family. “Then I am sorry to disappoint you, father.”

“You insubordinate, ungrateful—”

“Lord Bracken,” Benjicot interjected, stopping your father from insulting you further. “I am here to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

You did not so much as breathe as you waited for your father to respond. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

The longer you waited, the more panic seeped into your veins. But when your father finally responded, you wished that he had not. 

With a sneer on his face, your father glared at Benjicot when he said, “I would sooner feed my daughter to one of those Targaryen dragons before marrying her to some Blackwood cunt.” 

You had felt like someone had knocked the air from your lungs. You had never seen such hatred on your father’s face. Had never heard his voice sound so cold and cruel. You knew that he hated the Blackwoods, but to sentence you to death rather than let you marry? 

You looked at your father like he was a stranger. 

You heard angry shouts and curses behind you from the Blackwood host. Felt that the bloodlust in the air had upped a notch. 

Lord Blackwood held up a hand to silence his men. “Careful, Bracken.” 

“My daughter was taken by your son. Subjected to gods knows what. I will not be careful, Blackwood.” 

“That’s not true, father!” You shouted, launching yourself to stand before your father. You had to find some way to convince him, some way to get him to listen. “Benjicot and I are in love. Please, just listen to us.” 

Your father scoffed. “Love? Between a Bracken and a Blackwood? Do not make me laugh.” 

The Bracken host jeered at your father’s word, laughing and snickering at the very idea of you and Benjicot being together. You even heard a man call out, “Blackwood whore!” 

You did not see Benjicot move. Did not see him reach for the dagger at his hip. Did not see him launch the blade into the air. 

But you could not miss the dagger embedding itself into the man’s throat. Could not miss the splattering of blood or the final wheeze of breath the man took before falling to the ground. Dead in the blink of an eye. 

A scream tore from your throat. You whipped around to look at Benjicot and found Bloody Ben instead. His eyes held that crazed, feral look, but there was no smirk.

Every Blackwood and Bracken standing in that field un-sheathed their weapons. 

“You may insult me all you wish, Bracken!” Benjicot called out, moving forward. “Call me a cunt. Call me craven. I do not care.” He stopped next to you and took your hand. "But I will cut down any man who dares to say such vile insults to my lady. Of that, I promise you.”

Your father did not look pleased by that declaration. If anything, he looked more enraged than before. “You violate the terms of this parley, Blackwood. You have spilled Bracken blood. I have the right to demand your head. But I will settle for the return of my daughter. Now.” 

You were close to tears. Nothing you or Benjicot said moved your father. He was determined to hold onto his hatred, to see the Blackwoods in the worst possible light. But you could not give up—you had to try. 

“Father, please,” your voice broke at the words, “I know that the feud between our families has lasted for a millennium. I know that the thought of a Blackwood and Bracken being together, of loving one another, is inconceivable to you. I know that this is not the life you wished for me. But I have lovedBenjicot since I was a girl.” You took a quick glance at Benjicot to give you strength. “And he loves me. I humbly ask you to grant our union.” 

Your father refused to look at you. Refused to acknowledge your words or pleas. You clutched Benjicot’s hand tighter. For you knew what was coming. Knew that your father was about to crush whatever hope you still held onto. 

Ignoring you and Benjicot as if you were insignificant, he directed his words to Lord Blackwood, “I do not give my blessing to this marriage. Return my daughter to me or we will have war.” 

Your vision swam and your ears began ringing. Somewhere in the distance you heard Lord Blackwood sigh and give the command. Your hand was ripped from Benjicot’s, by whom you did not know. You felt as if the entire world had spun off its axis. How had everything gone so wrong? 

One moment, you were standing next to Benjicot, his warm hand against yours, and then in the blink of an eye, you were on the other side of the boundary stones, with Aeron leading you away.

You felt as if you were disconnected from your body. Aeron’s arms were around you, guiding you. You were vaguely aware that he was trying to say something, speak to you about what had happened. But you felt nothing. Heard nothing. A numbness had settled over you. 

Only when you heard Benjicot call out your name did you snap. 

You shoved against Aeron, tried to run back across the boundary stones to Blackwood land, back to your love, but Aeron held firm. You struggled against him, screaming and hitting and kicking, but your strength was no match for his. 

You looked across the field to see Benjicot being held back by three men. He was snarling and raging, but the men held firm and forced him to his knees. You watched as Aly tried to speak to him, tried to calm him down. 

But there was no calming Bloody Ben. Not now. Not when his lady had been taken from him. 

When Benjicot saw that you were watching him, saw that you were struggling against your own constraints, he stopped. His eyes were wild and fierce and held the promise of retribution. With laboring breaths Benjicot shouted across the field, “I will come you for you, my lady!” He vowed. “I will always come for you!” 

You sobbed at his words. Sobbed for the happiness and hope that you had felt only hours before. Sobbed for the future you might have shared together.

For the second time, you were forced to leave Benjicot behind in this accursed field. Only this time, the heartbreak was so much worse. You had gotten a taste of the impossible dream, gotten so close to getting everything you wanted.

Your dream had become a nightmare. 

final author note: I know! I know! We have to suffer before things get better. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. Love you babes xx

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[dameronspector]

Time in a Bottle

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Wife!Reader, Past!Manny Alvarez x Fem!Reader

Summary: You wished you could save time in a bottle. You wished you could stay longer with him. You were supposed to spend the rest of your days in marital bliss, turning gray and wrinkly together. And then, your husband decided to risk his life and save her. She brought in ghosts from your past and took away your reason to live at the same time.

Warnings: Angst. Suicidal Thoughts. Cursing. Canon-typical Gore and injuries, Blood, Based on s2 episode 2. This is literally pain. Major character death. Thoughts of vengeance. Reader goes crazy later. References to Past Manny x Reader (I am assuming Manny to be in his mid-thirties so Reader's age is the same). Manny is kind of toxic now because of his jealousy, If you’re an Abby defender, please click off right away because this is only Abby hate. Reader wishes to kill abby and the salt lake crew.

AN: fuck that show, fuck neil and fuck abby. this is basically self indulgent and i need to vent out my anger and sadness. there will be 2 parts because its too long.

It’s been 5 years since you and Joel decided to finally settle down, 4 since you got married and 7 since you were together. Arriving to Jackson, seeing at first glance how it was a real, functioning, town really shifted something in you and Joel. And then he saw how Tommy had a family of his own, with a baby on the way. Joel’s chest ached with longing to have a life like that with you. So, Joel sat you down one night and proposed you. Straight to the point. Just like him.

You could see how the slow, domestic life was turning him soft- he slept in later, he enjoyed full meals, he had taken up carpentry again, he was more open with his affection for you and Ellie- in short, you were enjoying this slow life with him. You loved seeing him slow down and watch his tender side show up after spending 20 years running, killing and looking over his shoulder. His voice had turned softer and although his joints had become sore with age, you were always there next to him to help soothe them.

Obviously, you said yes. How could you not? He had your whole heart in his hands. He was the reason why you woke up in the morning. You had nothing after him or before him. You grabbed his scruffy face in your hands like he was made of glass and kissed him sweetly. His eyes shone like stars in the dim lighting of your room and he flashed you a dimpled, bashful smile. He told you he didn’t deserve any of this and that you deserve someone younger, someone your age- but he wants to be selfish just this once. You just kissed him deeply and told him that you loved him and only him.

The next morning, you and Joel got your marriage officiated at the town courthouse. It was a simple ceremony. You were wearing a salvaged and simple white dress that was found in one of the abandoned stores and Joel wore his best shirt and trousers. Tommy and Maria were the witnesses and one of the townspeople was acting as the officiant. Ellie and Dina were your bridesmaids and Jesse, Tommy and little Benji Miller were Joel’s best men. The entire town had attended the wedding ceremony. It’s been 4 years since that happy memory. And they had gone by in a blink because your husband was quite literally the best husband in the whole world.

He would cook for you, massage your achy joints, you patch each other’s injuries with gentle touches, you would do the dishes together, he would make you sweet gifts from wood and mend things around the house, you would cook healthy meals for him and keep him active so that his joints wouldn’t turn rusty and the two of you would take long, peaceful, naps everyday. Watching his aged and mature face relax when he was sleeping was your favorite thing to do. You would take your time to run your hands through every wrinkle and dip of his face. He would try to deny it, but he'd lean his head closer to your hand and purred like a cat whenever you ran your hands through his graying curls.

He had also started to help around Jackson- rebuilding houses, expanding the town, fixing the broken stuff, and helping around the community and it made your heart swell with love for him. This man, who had lost everything in his life, was slowly starting to gain his real self back. Everyone loved Joel because of the work he did for them. Your heart especially burst out of your chest when he would play with Tommy and Maria’s son- Benjamin or Benji for short. He was now 5 years old and Joel would still sit him on his tender knees and explain to him about the situation outside Jackson. He talked to Benji in such a delicate voice that it made you tear up. It made you wonder what would it look like if that was your baby on his lap.

After spending half of your life with him, you conceded that Joel Miller was a good man. Yes, he was not an angel because he’s gotten his hands dirty with red, but who is in this world? You had done some fucked up shit that you wouldn’t have before. Ellie, Tommy, Maria, every single person had to go to lengths to protect themselves. But Joel Miller was a loyal man. He was a man who would go to any lengths to protect his own and the vulnerable. He was someone who always put others before him. And that’s what made him a good man. And you couldn't be more happy to spend the rest of your days with this good man.

Deep, deep, down you knew that one day, his selflessness to dive in situations to save others before himself, would be the end of him.

-

There were some changes to today's patrolling team. Originally, Ellie was supposed to join Joel but considering whatever happened last night, Joel decided to let her sleep in and he went on patrol with you and Dina. He wasn't happy that you were joining him in the terrible weather but you shut him up with a kiss and saddled your horse.

None of you anticipated how deadly the blizzard would be. The visibility was zero, your horses were struggling to walk in the knee deep snow and poor Dina was close to freezing her hands off. You and Joel weren't faring any better. Both of your faces were freezing, his facial hair catching the snow, your aged joints were stiff and you knew his back and knees must've been killing him, but Joel Miller wouldn't be Joel Miller without ignoring his own health and looking after the others. So you bribed him into taking shelter by telling him that you and Dina needed to rest as soon as possible. That got his attention real quick and he spotted a closed off mine and ushered the two of you in it. The packed area kept the place somewhat warm and you and Dina took some time to remove your gloves and stretch your limbs.

Suddenly, there was commotion. It was muffled, but you could feel it. Joel turned his head to look at you and signaled you to mount your horse.

"I'm coming with you, Joel", you told him firmly.

"Go sit on your horse, baby. I'll be back in 5. Look after Dina", he conceded.

You furrowed your eyes at him and he looked at you apologetically before taking off towards the source of the sound. You sighed wearily and mounted your horse. You asked Dina to show her hands and you took in at how her palm was slowly turning into a dark shade of blue.

"Shit, kid, we gotta warm you up", you told her with concern and rubbed your hands against her palm to generate heat. She winced and you mumbled an apology before the upstairs door burst open.

You and Dina snapped your heads up at the sound. It was Joel, thankfully, and he had brought in…a girl with him? He slammed the doors close behind them and the door started shaking, something heavy pounding against it. A horde of infected.

You paid close attention to the girl. She looked to be in her early 20s and she was shaking. Something felt...off. Where did she even come from? You were in the middle of nowhere.

"Joel?!", Dina shouted next to you.

"Up here! I'm comin', I'm comin'", came your husband's voice as he approached the railing to look at you and Dina. You looked up at him and observed him closely to check if he was okay. He looked at you and nodded his head.

He then turned around and started talking to the girl. You still couldn't shake away the odd feeling. The loud banging of the door brought you back to the present. You saw Joel come down with the girl in tow.

"What do we do?!", Dina asked breathlessly.

"We leave!", Joel answered while running over to you.

"We leave? Joel, What?", you asked him in exasperation.

He looked at you with a hurried look in his eyes.

Dina spoke up, her eyes wide. "Back to Jackson?! It's too far, we'll freeze before we get halfway!"

"Joel, it's bad out there, we can't. And there's a fucking horde outside as we speak", you tried to make him understand with pleading eyes.

He made quick work of mounting his horse.

"I'm aware", he replied shortly.

"Where the fuck did they even come from?", Dina's voice was a distant hum in your ears as you focused your laser sharp gaze on the girl that Joel had brought in. She hadn't said a word.

"Where did you come from?", Dina asked the girl in confusion and you supported her question.

"Yeah, where did you come from. We're in the middle of nowhere. And you were out there in that blizzard without a horse?", you questioned her sharply, your eyes narrowed.

Her eyes were wide and she kept darting them between you and Dina, seemingly on edge.

"The mountain", came her immediate reply. Like she'd rehearsed it. You gave her a look and turned to look at Joel. His questioning eyes bored into yours and the loud banging and shrieking behind the door broke your contact.

Dina turned back to look at you and Joel. "Okay, if we stay here we die and if we go out there, we die!", her words rushing out in fear and frustration.

"Joel...We got extra baggage now. What are we doing?", you murmured lowly to him.

He furrowed his eyebrows in frustration. "I don't know, I don't know, I'm thinking!"

"The lodge. My friends are holed up in a lodge halfway up the mountain."

All three of you snapped your heads to look at the girl, her body language screaming fear and adrenaline.

"Not far. If the infected are down here, maybe there aren't anymore up there", both you and Dina were looking at her with equal parts confusion and doubt. A fucking lodge? Here?

"Why would you leave that lodge and end up here? Are you dumb or is there somethin' else?", you asked her with a quirked eyebrow. This wasn't your first rodeo. You've encountered stupid raiders like these before.

The door was about to be broken off its hinges. You had no option.

"Fuck it, it's all we got. Are your friends armed?", Joel asked her in haste.

You whipped your head to look at him. "Joel!"

He looked at you and softened his eyes. "Baby, we don't have any other options. D’you trust me?"

You couldn't believe that he was going to trust this girl and her friends just like that. You huffed in frustration and exchanged a skeptical look with Dina before you begrudgingly nodded at him. Of course you trusted him. You trusted him with your life.

"Yeah", the girl nodded.

"Good. We're gonna need 'em. Get on", Joel gestured at her to hop on the horse behind him.

You exchanged another doubtful look with Joel and he just brushed his hand gently over your arm. You didn't notice the way the girl was staring at the exchange with tense eyes.

-

As you left, the door broke and the horde of infected took over the mine quickly. The four of you rushed down the snow covered hill. The air was biting at your skin as it whipped across your face and numbed it. All of you were covered in snow, your cheeks red and body stiff. But you forced your poor horses to run faster as the horde followed you.

You suddenly came at stop and noticed a thick air of smoke and fire in the distance. Jackson. Oh god. Please be okay, you thought about your family. You thought about Ellie, Tommy, Maria and little Benji.

"Joel!", you got his attention with a concerned yell.

All three of them looked over towards the scene.

"What? Oh god", Dina exclaimed breathlessly.

"I have to go back!", Joel announced.

You widened your eyes and walked your horse closer to his. "Are you crazy? What do you mean you have to go back? How-"

"We won't make it!", Dina exasperated.

Joel turned his head to look at you with alert eyes. As if he wanted to relay this to you, and you only. "If i don't make it, I don't make it. I-"

"Shut the fuck up, Joel", you scolded him with a frustrated voice. Your eyes filled up with tears. Why was he so hell-bent on doing something reckless every time?

"We're almost there! The lodge is just up ahead- it's like a minute. We've got blankets, ammo. My friends can help you get back. We can fight", the girl sitting behind Joel spoke over your argument.

You turned to look at her with a scrutinising stare. You still didn’t believe her but Joel was already being way too stubborn right now and Dina was inching closer to hypothermia. You didn’t want to risk that. You and Joel took one last look towards Jackson and reined your horses.

"Fast!", Joel commanded over the howling wind and all three of you took off quickly.

So you followed her lead and took off for the lodge, effectively distracting the horde to focus on the other horde coming from the top of the mountain.

"Horses! We got Horses!"

You heard a few voices overlap as you approached the lodge. There were around 4 people standing, you noticed. The wind was picking up pace, hitting your face like someone was stabbing you with tiny needles.

Joel got off his horse before helping you and Dina down. The girl was helped by one of the men in the group. Joel checked if you were alright and you told him to check on Dina instead because she had become way too stiff for your liking. Joel bundled up Dina under his jacket and put an arm around you to keep you close to his body heat. You were now shivering violently against him and he pulled you closer.

You walked upstairs into a room that overlooked the mountains with a giant glass window. Joel made haste and and walked you and Dina by the fireplace. He rubbed Dina's arms before another girl from the group took over and began treating her. Joel turned his attention to you and bundled you up close to him. You were stiff and shaking head to toe. Your lips were a slight tinge of blue.

"Hey, hey hey hey- Baby? Look at me", Joel fretted over you and brought his cold hands up to cup your face.

You leaned your face against his palms numbly and his name left your mouth in a whisper.

"I know, I know, I'm here", he reassured you and brought you closer to his chest, trapping your body heat.

In your haze, you could faintly hear Abby say something to Joel to which he originally opposed to but after a few seconds, he pulled away from you hesitantly. You whined and tried to grasp his shirt in your numb hands. He held your cold hands and put them right next to his heart.

"It's okay, honey. They're helpin' us. We gotta get you warm, yeah?', he cooed to softly and gently pulled away from you.

As soon as Joel pulled away from you, you heard a faint gasp and the entire room quieted down. You swiveled your heavy head towards the sound and tried to focus your blurry eyes on the person in front of you. Joel slid his hand down to hold your elbow and the other arm was holding you by your shoulders.

"(Name)?", you heard a voice whisper.

Joel whipped his head to look at him. "How the fuck do you know her?", he growled.

Manny cleared his throat. "Just...from back in the day. We were in the same QZ."

Joel's face twisted in confusion and anger. You'd never told him about this man. Joel wasn't sure whether he should trust him or not. Before he could ask you about this, the girl decided to break the tension, seemingly in a rush. "Okay, Manny, help her out. He knows what he's doing, trust me", she added the last part when she noticed Joel try to argue with her.

Joel let out a weary sigh and reluctantly handed you over to this...Manny. His fingers were constantly rubbing against reach other, worried for you and Dina, when he noticed that Jackson was perfectly visible from here. He rushed over to the window and stared at it in despair, not knowing if Ellie, Tommy and the others were okay.

-

Manny's POV

Manny damn near fainted when he saw you in that man's arms. He was seeing you after almost a decade. A decade since you two parted ways and he foolishly let you go. He tried looking for you for 5 years but eventually gave up, believing that you were dead. But here you were, delirious and cold, against this old man who talked to you like you were something fragile and precious. Just like how he used to talk to you back then. He noted how you looked so mature and strong, yet so vulnerable and beautiful at the same time.

He could feel the stares of everyone in the room. Especially this man's. He turned to look at him with fury in his eyes after Manny uttered your name. Manny snapped himself out of his daze and explained how you had been in the same qz. But that wasn't it, was it? It was way more than that. It wasn't just acquaintance.

Manny carefully approached Joel, his eyes dialed into you and took you in his arms. Your eyes were bleary and unfocused out of exhaustion. He took some time to take you in. Your hair was longer now, a faded scar by on your forehead, your skin was smooth as ever, just tinged with red now. He took note of the blue tinge on your lips and immediately got to work. He bundled you up in your jacket and a blanket and brought you closer to the fire, hugging you closely to his chest. He rubbed his hands on your arms quickly to warm you up faster.

Manny still couldn't fathom that you were here, in his arms. He carefully took your left hand in both of his and started blowing hot air on it. As he was rubbing your hand, his fingers brushed against a metal ring on your ring finger. He froze. You were married? To that man? Manny clenched his jaw tightly. He didn’t know if he was jealous or upset that he let you go easily. But he was sure about one thing- whatever Abby was planning, you were off limits.

-

Your body was finally warming up and you came to consciousness. You felt a warm presence next to you. You took a deep breath in, trying to look for Joel’s comforting scent but you were met with an unfamiliar one. Your eyes shot open in alarm and you jolted out of your haze before pushing at the body next to you.

“Hey-hey- (Name)- it’s okay”, the voice tried to calm you down, holding your flailing arms against their chest.

You gave a final push and looked up.

There’s no way.

Your breath hitched and you stared at him. The same curly hair, the same pink splotches on his cheeks, the same brown eyes except he had facial hair now. “Manny?”, you whispered in disbelief.

You thought he was dead. For the past 10 years, you thought he was fucking dead. Manny lowered his eyes in shame. Your face shifted with a thousand emotions at the same time. You weren’t sure whether you wanted to cry or punch him across the face.

Your mouth fell open and Joel called for you before you could say anything. “Honey?”, he made his way over and you kept your teary eyes on Manny before rushing into Joel’s arms. You met him halfway and he gathered you in his warm embrace.

“Hey, you good? Don’t get up so quickly”, he chided you in a gruff voice while brushing your flyaways from your forehead. He grabbed your chin gently and pulled you away from his chest to look at him. You furrowed your brows in concern, tears making your vision blurry. Then, all of sudden, you remembered- “Dina- where’s- where’s Dina?”, you asked him in a shaky voice.

"She's okay, see, they're helpin' her", he told you softly and gestured at Dina. You looked over at her and nodded your head before your eyes fell on the large glass window in front of you. It was overlooking the snowy landscape and you could see Jackson, still burning, the orange of the fire a bright contrast against the stark white snow. "Joel-", you let out a sad whisper and pulled him towards the window, him guiding you with an arm across your shoulders. The two of you looked out at the smoke and ash curling in the air helplessly.

Joel clenched his jaw and barked orders at the others. "Okay, everybody grab blankets, ammo, whatever weapons you have, we're headin' out in three minutes."

"Uh- sorry, I'm-I'm Abby-" so she does have a name. "This is Nora, Manny, Owen and Mel", the moment she said Manny you threw him a tentative glance. Manny turned away.

Joel just twisted his face in disinterest and turned around to contact anyone who was in the radio room. "Jackson, come in", he furrowed his eyebrows in concern and held up the radio with both of his hands. "Tommy, come in. Do you copy?" You took note of the desperation in his voice and ran your hand across his back again, blankly staring ahead.

Manny's POV

"Jackson!", the man shouted in the radio once again. There was no chance that he'd get any signal. Manny brought up his gaze to look at you. You were standing close to him, your hand splayed across his back in a tender and supporting embrace. Manny clenched his fingers into a fist.

"Her name's Dina", Abby spoke quietly while gesturing at Dina. "She is-" Abby gave a look to Manny, "(Name), as we all know by now. She's related to him somehow", Abby spoke in a low voice, so as to not alert you. Manny chose to keep his mouth shut and not reveal your relationship to the man next to you. His gears started turning. He needed to keep you safe somehow.

"Jackson!", the man yelled again.

"And he...", Abby turned around to removed her coat before continuing, "..is Joel."

The room was suddenly way too quiet. Manny felt like his ears were filled with water. Of fucking course you were married to Joel. This was going to be a pain in the ass. But his condition still stands. You were off fucking limits. He walked over to Abby and held her arm. "Do whatever the fuck you want with him, not a scratch on her", he conceded harshly.

Abby turned her head to look at him. "You can't be serious-" "I don't fucking care. She's not a part of this shit", Manny warned her.

Abby furrowed her eyebrows and reluctantly nodded yes. Manny clenched his jaw so tightly that he felt like his teeth were going to break. He couldn't fight for you then, but he'd do it now.

-

"Hey Jackson, does anyone copy? Any patrols, anyone?", Joel barked in the radio again. You couldn't help but feel restless, for some reason. Like your heart had fallen down to the deepest pits of your stomach, your chest constricting painfully. Behind you the room had gone way too quiet for your liking.

"Tommy, if you can hear me, we've got these--"

"Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel-"

You and Joel whipped your head around to see Manny had held Dina on gunpoint. Your stomach turned. Your eyes widened. "Manny!", your voice furious. You couldn't believe he could stoop so low. Joel made a move and the other guy-Owen- stopped him.

"Ch-Ch-Ch. Ah-Ah-Ah!", he pointed his gun at Joel. You grabbed Joel's arm and both of you raised your arms. You had handled a lot of these similar situations back in the day. This was like second nature to you.

Manny pressed the gun tighter to Dina's temple and Joel made a motion of surrendering. Your face twisted in pain and you tried to placate him. "Manny...lower the gun. She's just a kid, please", you requested in a wobbly voice and raised your arms higher. Joel looked between the two of you with a distant look in his eyes.

Manny clenched his jaw tighter and his eyes flashed with unease. He couldn't disappoint you once more. But he was already protecting you, why should he worry about these other two? He gripped his gun firmly and shoved Dina back into his chest.

Your face twisted in pain. What the fuck was wrong with him? In all the years you knew him, he was never this…heartless.

"We're not gonna hurt her", Abby began and your eyes followed the bald headed girl- Nora- as she removed Dina's gun from her holster, "we're just gonna put her to sleep for a while."

Nora walked over to you and Joel and took away your radios and guns as well. You and Joel silently complied. "Trust me, it's for the best", Abby suggested with a smirk. You glared at her and your breathing quickened. You saw Joel subtly shake his head from the corner of your eye.

"Do it", she ordered the other girl-Mel- with a shake of her head.

Mel looked skeptical, glancing between Abby and Dina nervously. You almost laughed. Her own group was untrusting of her.

Abby turned her head to address Mel, "If you don't do it, I'm gonna smash her in the fuckin' head", she spit out.

"Watch it", you seethed at her and clenched your hands. She stared you down, challenging. Mel immediately got to work and bent down to retrieve something from the backpack.

"You wanna rob us? Fine, take what you want", Joel offered in a steady voice.

"Do we look like raiders to you?", Abby questioned him while removing her jacket and Manny turned his attention back towards you and Joel. You clenched your jaw. You knew there was something off about her. Joel darted his eyes around the room. He looked at Owen and then Manny. "No", he declared gruffly.

"She's been on my ass since the moment she saw me. Tell me, (Name), what do we look like?", She questioned you and crossed her arms.

You stared at her menacingly. "A bad fucking actress, is what you look like to me", you bit back.

Abby's face flickered with a look of offense before she scoffed. "What do we look like?", she addressed Joel.

Joel darted his eyes between her and Manny, keeping an eye on Dina. "Military." Joel looked around the room and considered the only other option. "Fireflies?", his voice wavered slightly.

Abby shrugged. "Used to be. Haven't you heard? There are no more fireflies. They're all gone."

Joel tensed and his eyes shone with painful memories. You were frozen to your spot. This is what kept you up at night. That there would be some loose ends that would come back to haunt you later. You and Joel shifted your gaze to Mel, who was preparing some kind of syringe. "What the hell is that?", you murmured.

"No- NO. Get that shit away from me-", Dina struggled against Manny. Joel took a shaky breath in. "This is just gonna put you to sleep- this is going to put you to sleep for one hour, I promise", Mel tried placating her. So far, she was the only one who was cordial in this group.

Dina struggled further in Manny's arms and he tightened his arms around her. She looked at you and Joel and you gave her a look of sympathy while Joel nodded his head at her, telling her to cooperate. She finally calmed down and reluctantly let Mel inject her with an anaesthetic. Dina panted and looked towards you again, Joel giving her a nod of reassurance.

“No. No. No!”, Dina whimpered and you closed your eyes in pain. She soon passed out and slipped down Manny’s arms who laid her on the floor. You opened your eyes, your tears flowing down your cheeks, looking at her unconscious body which looked smaller than it was. You raised your eyes to stare into Manny’s intensely. He looked at you, his eyes shining with something that you couldn’t quite grasp.

“See, breathing”, Abby announced casually as if she hadn’t just ordered to inject someone with a drug against their wishes. Fucking moron.

“That’s a nice scar you have on your right temple; there”, she stated. Your body stiffened. How the fuck did she know that? Joel looked at her in confusion.

“I’d say you’re about, what, six feet?”, she mentioned casually, taking her eyes across Joel’s body. “In your 60s now?” You couldn’t believe the audacity of this girl. You furrowed your eyebrows and your face twisted in a grimace. Joel’s breathing quickened. Abby chuckled suddenly,“You actually are, pretty handsome”, she raised her eyebrows, “congrats on that.”

Your eyes widened. “You’re a fucking weirdo, so congrats on that”, you gritted your teeth and spit at her. She chuckled again, like this was all a joke. Joel side eyed her and turned to look at you. “It’s okay, baby. Relax”, he soothed you.

She then gave Joel an offer- to tell the truth. And something about they’ll all know if he’s speaking the truth and that she’ll let Dina live. You almost charged at her but Joel shook his head at you.

“Where was the last place you saw the fireflies?”

There it was. They were connected to the hospital. You should’ve known.

Both you and Joel knew what she was talking about. Joel’s face shifted in recognition and his eyes filled up with tears. Your hands were shaking and you felt bile rise up your throat. “Salt Lake.”

Abby moved back in satisfaction. “At least you’re honest.”

Joel turned his back to look at Jackson in the distance. The smoke, ash and fire still persisted. His mind was roaming around in circles. He was physically here but mentally back in Jackson. He needed to get you and Dina out of here. He needed to save your home. He needed to save his family. He felt like he was stuck in his personal hell- his heart cut into a million pieces and thrown around in different places for him to pick up and protect. Joel turned back, “I saved your life”, he tried to bargain. Abby scoffed loudly. “What life?”

And it happened in a blink. She turned around with a big rifle in her hand. Your eyes widened. She shot Joel in his kneecap. Joel let out a guttural scream that made your stomach twist. And he fell face first on the ground.

“JOEL!”, you yelled and kneeled by his side to hold him. You glowered at Abby. “FUCK YOU!”, you were full on sobbing now. Your vision was blurry, your speech wobbly and your hands were violently shaking. All you could see was that Joel was writhing next to you and your ears rang with the gunshot and his screams. “Hey, hey, hey, baby. It’s okay, I’m here. I know it hurts, Joel. C‘mon, get up for me, baby”, you soothed him with a tearful, whiny voice. You helped him turn on his back. He let out more pained grunts and screams. You tore your shirt’s hem and tied it around his knee, as a makeshift torniquet. The fabric was quickly sopping wet from the blood, it flowed through it and stained your hands a crimson colour. Manny looked at you two with thinly veiled surprise on his face.

“Baby, come on-I know it hurts”, you tried to get him to look at you but his eyes were tightly shut in pain. You held his head in your lap and caressed his cheek gently. You had shut out the background noise from your ears- your entire body tuned into Joel. Your face was damp with tears and your hands were sticky with his blood. You wanted to cut off your hands. Joel gasped in pain and held your forearm. “I know baby, I know it hurts. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Joel”, you apologised to him and kissed his forehead. You were about to turn around and cuss out Abby again before Mel sat down next to you and you fixed her with a glare.

“It’s just a tourniquet. Please”, she showed her belt to you and raised her arms up. Your teary, red face looked at her in anger. You helped Joel sit up carefully and let her torniquet his knee. He let out whimpers and loud grunts of pain. You kissed his shoulder, whispering reassurances in his ear, “It’s okay, it’s okay”, and you took a look at his face. He was breathing so quickly that you were worried he was going to hyperventilate. He sucked in harsh breaths and gritted his teeth before shooting Manny a look.

Manny’s face was blank- whether he was uncomfortable with what Abby did or because of you and Joel, you don’t know. But you looked at him with disappointment and anger radiating through your whole being and he turned his gaze away from you.

Mel tightened the torniquet around Joel’s knee and he screamed in pain once again. Your face twisted in agony and you braced yourself against him, an arm curled around his bicep tightly, other arm supporting his back and your face buried in his shoulder. You couldn’t take it anymore. You’ve never heard those sounds from Joel’s mouth before and you wished you’d die before you heard them again. Manny looked at you with longing but his face flickered with a sick satisfaction. Mel finished tightening the torniquet and Joel finally leaned back on his hand and took deep breaths in to calm down. He leaned himself against your side, exhausted, and you brought him closer to lean his head on your shoulder. You kissed his hair. Abby approached you two and kneeled in front of Joel. “You’re tough. I guess you probably have to be, killing all those people”, she smiled sarcastically.

“Get the fuck away from him before I blow your brains out”, you growled at her, your bloodshot eyes staring at her sharply. She shot you an amused look. “You’re so lucky. Got two men protecting you and that’s why I can’t hurt you, unfortunately”, she said with a fake upset-tone lacing her voice.

You looked at her in confusion and Joel growled. “Don’t talk to her.” She turned to look at Joel with an annoyed look in her eyes.

“Did you count as you went, or…I guess maybe it just didn’t matter?”, she shrugged in a nonchalant way. Joel gulped harshly to swallow his pain and tried to sit up. Abby finally confessed about her being the daughter of the doctor that Joel killed in Salt Lake. You scoffed, you were almost going to tell her off but Joel grasped your hand in his and squeezed it, to tell you to stop. His lip was quivering as he was going down the memory of that fateful day.

She then went on and on about some stupid fucking code that was taught to her by her commander and warned Joel to not to go to Seattle and that he wouldn’t get a chance to. You gritted your teeth and stared her down, your hands itching to pick up a gun and shoot her then and there. She then surprised you by running her hand across his forehead and called him helpless in a fake pitiful way.

“And your….girlfriend? Can’t even do anything because she knows it would be stupid. Isn’t that right?”, she asked you condescendingly.

You rolled your eyes in annoyance, bored with her so called monologue.

She leaned back, and then her face shifted into something psychotic. Like a switch was flipped. Abby looked at Manny and subtly nodded her head. Manny clenched his fists and made his way over to you before picking you up.

“What- leave me the fuck alone, Manny!”, you glowered and thrashed against him, hitting his chest. Joel turned to look at you with panic in his eyes. He shifted his focus on Manny, his gaze murderous. “Don’t touch her-”, he growled and tried to get up when Manny kicked him in the ribs and he fell back, grunting.

“Joel! No- please. Manny, please stop this”, you clawed at Manny’s arms and almost begged him. “The less you struggle, the less he’ll suffer, (nickname)”, Manny murmured in your ear. Your body was shaking with sobs, reaching for Joel helplessly. He was in so much pain it made your chest hurt. Joel grunted and sat up slowly to reassure you in his soft, caring voice. “I’m alright, honey. I’m here, it’s okay.”

You shook your head in desperation, your throat scratchy from all the crying. You thrashed against Manny harder and he trapped your arms before holding you at gun point, pressing the cold gun against your temple. “I’ll kill you, Manny. You know that”, you warned him. He knew you could become feral if you had to. He knew you were capable of disarming him and killing him then and there. But you were vulnerable right now and he was going to use it for his advantage. "I know, angel”, he simply agreed with you and pressed you tighter against his chest, his gun pressing harshly against your temple.

“Stop. Stop it. You want me, leave her alone. Please”, Joel begged in a shaky voice. You sobbed harder, he’s never begged in front of such losers before. Abby chuckled. “Oh well, we don’t want to hurt her anyways.”

Your heart fell down to your stomach.

-

Part 2

AN: sorry for the cliffhanger, i had to split it in two part because i don't wanna bore yall with long fics!!

[asumofwords]

Watercress - Chapter 3

Warnings: She/her pronouns. Slow burn, mentions of injury, threats, sickness. Tags will be added as the fic goes along.

Pairings: Aemond x Healer

Summary: Raised in the Riverlands, near the shadow of Harrenhal, her life was one of endless toil and quiet resilience. Every day was the same—scraping together food, tending to the ill, and surviving the harsh realities of a land marked by struggle. But when war came, it brought horrors beyond anything she could have imagined. The skies blazed with fury, the waters of the Gods Eye churned with the echoes of battle, and then—just as suddenly as it began—the world grew eerily quiet. She believed the worst was over. That was, until a fateful discovery in the woods shattered her fragile peace and set her on a path she never could have foreseen.

Notes: Hello angels! I hope you enjoyed chapter 2 and now enjoy this. I've been writing these on my commutes to work which has been super fun. I'm going to try and get a chapter out every week if i can! Enjoy <3

For days, Aemond floated in and out of consciousness. Each time his eye flickered open, only to roll shut again, the healer took it as a sign that he would survive. She had seen men fade into death before. How their bodies went still, how their breathing grew shallow and thin until it simply stopped.

But Aemond was not one of those men. He lingered, clung to life like a beast caught in a trap, refusing to die despite the ruin of his body.

At first, he barely stirred. She forced water between his cracked lips, tipping it carefully so he would not choke. She fed him broth, the rich scent of marrow and herbs filling the cottage as she coaxed him to swallow. At one point, she had feared he would slip into a sleep he would never wake from, lost to his wounds and the fever that burned at his skin. But as the days passed, his fingers twitched. His lashes fluttered.

And then finally his eye opened.

Outside, the air had turned sharp and biting, winter creeping closer with every shortened day. The fire in her hearth struggled against the chill that bled up from the earth, and the furs wrapped around her shoulders did little to keep it out.

Soon, the snow would come.

And snow meant death for those who could not prepare for it.

Food was already scarce. Crops had withered in the wake of war, and what little remained was taken by the desperate or the cruel. She had coin, but even coin could not conjure wheat from barren fields or meat from hollowed-out forests. She often thought of selling the long sword she had taken from him, knowing it would fetch more than enough to keep her through the winter. For many winters to come. But carrying a sword like that, his sword, was as dangerous as wielding a traitor’s banner.

Lords and commoners alike who had supported the Green cause had been rounded up and slaughtered. If she was caught with the weapon of a kinslayer, she would be met with the same fate.

And yet… she had kept him alive.

She did not know why. She only knew that she had to.

Would he repay her kindness with a blade to her throat once he could stand again?

Would he lead men to her door, reveal that a woman in the woods had nursed the enemy back to health?

Would he seek vengeance?

She did not want to think about it.

Unease seemed to follow her however, ever since she found the young Prince. It was if the air itself had shifted when Rhaenyra had been slain.

When the war had ended.

It could be, she reasoned with herself, the unsettling feeling after a war. The sudden silence and stillness that clung to people after such uproar. It could also be that the dragons that once flew in great numbers above had greatly dwindled after the war, their shadows and roars missing from the sky. The thought left something heavy in her chest.

It did not bode well when the symbols of gods died.

A low groan pulled her from her thoughts.

She did not rush to his side. She had learned in the first few days that his body remembered the war even if his mind did not. He twitched in his sleep, breath hitching, murmuring half-formed words to ghosts that did not answer. But she knew this sound, this was different.

He was waking.

She dampened a cloth and pressed it to his forehead, watching as his eye fluttered open, violet, sharp despite the dazed, fevered haze clinging to him.

For a moment, he simply stared at her.

Then, suddenly, he tried to sit up.

A harsh cry of pain tore from his lips, and he collapsed back against the bed, his breath ragged, chest jerking in uneven gasps. His fingers twisted into the furs, knuckles white with strain, but his body refused to obey him. He clenched his jaw, breathing heavily through his nose, and tried again. This time, his injured leg jerked upward, and the pain hit him like a tidal wave.

A snarl ripped from his throat, his fingers curling into claws against the mattress, all those fine furs she had bought having their hairs town from their pelts. His eye was squeezed shut, his body taut with the unbearable humiliation of weakness and pain.

She looked down upon him, cloth still held aloft and hoped that this wouldn’t inspire a desperate instinct to attack her. She was certain he would likely not react well, waking up to the unfamiliar scent of her hut, his body aching, and his mind clouded.

A Prince waking in a cottage in the woods and not the chambers of the palace was certain to turn someone of his standings head. Especially since his last memory would have been the war at its peak.

If she woke up one day in a room in the Red Keep, injured and alone, she was sure she would be just as alarmed, if not more so. 

Aemond's lips were chapped, face having grown pale, and breathed a ragged breath, his violet eye flicking around the room as rapidly as his weakness would permit, searching for immediate signs of danger.

When he finally stilled, his breathing shallow but controlled, she let her gaze drift lower. His movement had shifted the furs on the bed so she now had a clear view of the wrappings on his chest. She looked over them searching for any sign of split stitches and found them.

Blood had begun to seep from beneath the rags she had replaced from the fish skin, and without even looking up she turned around to gather her supplies.

Behind her, his voice was hoarse, raw with pain and something darker.

"Where am I?"

She did not answer immediately. She was already assessing the damage, her fingers steady as they lifted the bloodied wrappings from his skin.

"Riverlands." She said flatly.

The silence stretched.

"Where?" His tone sharpened, demanding now.

She did not look at him. "Near Harrenhal."

The shift was immediate.

His breath hitched, his fingers twitched, but the worst of it was in his eye. The moment the word left her lips, his expression twisted into something dangerous. Hatred, rage, loathing, all bleeding into one as his nostrils flared, as the muscle in his jaw clenched tight enough to shatter his own teeth.

She braced herself, already anticipating the bite of his fury.

"Are you a Maester?" The question was sharp, calculated. Even now, flat on his back, broken, helpless, he was still testing her.

She did not fear the question, nor the weight of his stare. Instead, she did something unexpected, she laughed. A quiet, breathy sound that barely reached the space between them.

It was not amusement, not quite. But there was something in it; a warning, perhaps.

He hated it.

"As a follower of the Seven, you should know women cannot swear such an oath."

Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her gaze to meet his.

The hatred was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but now it was joined by something else. Something assessing.

He was measuring her.

Calculating.

She could almost see the thoughts turning behind his eye, the realisation sinking in. He was in a stranger’s home, far from his kin, with wounds he could not fight past, and a body that refused to obey him.

And worst of all; he was at her mercy.

The firelight flickered, casting long shadows across his face, making the bruises look darker, the scar across his cheekbone deeper, and him gaunter. He looked like something feral, something barely restrained by the thin thread of his own will.

She wondered, briefly, if she had saved a dying man or a dying beast.

The answer did not matter.

She would soon find out.

“Who tends to me?” His voice was distrustful, thick with uncertainty. Sharp.

Commanding.

She gave him her name and only her name.

“Who is your sworn lord?” Voice thick with impatience.

She smirked as she lifted the bandages from his chest, watching his fingers twitch, wary as if he might lurch forward and grab her.

She hummed, unfazed. “Sworn lord? I’ve sworn no oaths.”

His eye burned into her, “Who holds Harrenhal?”

She had to hold back a laugh.

Men often made demands when they were injured. Often promised vengeance for the shame of their own vulnerability. When she had first taken her mother’s place, it had made her cautious, fearful. But time had taught her something else. Empty words and empty threats were more deserving of mirth than worry.

But this man… this man was different. His reputation alone would have been enough to put her on edge. And yet, more than that, it was the feel of him. The way the air thickened around him, charged with something unspoken.

A warning.

Even still, she answered as she would any other.

“The ghosts that haunt its walls.”

Her fingers pinched his torn skin together, assessing what to do next.

He did not whimper this time.

Aemond gave her a scathing look, the scar over his eye crinkling. “The war...Has it been won?”

She hummed in amusement.

His face dissolved into fury.

He was a prince, and had clearly never spoken to in such a way, least of all by someone lowborn like herseld. But within these four walls, titles held no power.

All men bled.

All men died.

Birth and rank meant naught to the gods.

“There is no winning in a war.”

"Who?" His voice, a blade’s edge, barely restrained.

She held his gaze, unflinching, and it irked him. “The son of the dead Queen. Her blood will rule. The Gods do not favour kinslayers and usurpers.”

Violence flared in his eye, “It is treason to speak her name with victory.”

Aemond tried once again to sit up too quickly, succeeding and she sighed as she watched two new stitches burst, blood pooling to the surface. The Prince tried valiantly to ignore the pain, teeth gritted as his body betrayed him, but she could see that it made his consciousness swim.

He swayed and fell back onto on elbow, wheezing at the agonised angle, one arm coming to clutch his broken ribs. But even in the immense pain he seemed to be suffering, his stubbornness won out, and even she had to admit that he had faired better than men who had suffered less.

"You lie."

If he weren’t so pathetic in that moment, she might have humoured him like a petulant child. She didn’t dignify it with a response. Just inhaled deeply, eyes sweeping the rest of his injuries. She lingered on his leg.

Horror flickered in his violet eye.

He knew.

The loss of an eye had been something to overcome. A wound to be turned into a weapon. A show of his strength. Something to reveal to strike fear amongst his enemies.

But this…

A leg was different. A leg made a warrior. And without it, without the strength to stand, to fight, what was he?

"Answer me." His voice wavered this time.

She wished he would pass out so she could work in silence.

"The false king was slain by his own men," She said coolly, "All your kin are dead."

Silence.

His eye searched hers, desperate for deception, for any trace of a lie.

There was none.

Something in his face shifted. Darkened.

Gone.

All of them.

His mother. His brothers. His grandfather Otto.

Perhaps Criston Cole, too. The man who had been a father in all but name and blood.

But most of all;

Helaena.

Had she been slain with the rest?

His sister.

His gentle sister.

A harsh, bitter breath left him. His lips curled into something between a sneer and a grimace. Aemond was not a man who wept. His grief hardened into fury.

And she had been prepared for it.

"Then I should have died."

She lifted a brow, lazy, “Aye. If the Gods had willed it.”

The sneer returned, but his strength waned, and he collapsed back onto the bed, glaring at her.

"You willed it."

"I do as the Gods command me."

She reached for him and he recoiled.

"I am not some wounded beast for you to keep." Aemond snarled, pink blooming across his cheeks where they had once been colourless.

Amused she replied, "No. You snarl and snap like one. But a true beast still has its claws."

He swatted at her as she reached for his side, shifting away. But she was persistent, stronger than he expected, and he sank, reluctant, into compliance.

At a loss.

At a loss of who he was.

He had lost everything. The war. His kin. His title.

His purpose.

And for the first time, he felt it. The emptiness. The hollow absence where Vhagar had been.

The ache of the bond was silent. And he just knew to his bones she was gone.

The one being who understood him.

Gone.

And now, after all he had done, after Lucerys, after Sharp Point, after every drop of blood spilled in his name, his half-sister’s son sat the throne.

And when they found him?

It would be public. Very public. A trial. A spectacle.

A kinslayer’s fate.

"How long have I been here?" His voice was quieter now, loss leaking in at the edges.

She knew what he was thinking.

Could he still fight? Could he still win?

Would there be any left who would fight for him?

Unlikely.

She met his eye. “Several days. You’ve been asleep for most.”

His teeth clenched. “Days…”

Frustration sparked in his voice, and she readied herself for cruelty.

"Why did you save me?" He sneered, and she ignored his question, "I suppose you expect me to be grateful. What do you want, coin? Gold? A jewel to buy your way out of this hovel?"

There it was.

She ignored him again. Dipped a rag into boiling water, wrung it out, and reached for his wound. She met his eye briefly before pressing the cloth to his skin.

His stomach clenched beneath her hands.

"You lie." He hissed again.

"I don’t have time for lies."

"Say it again."

She flicked her eyes up to his, unimpressed, "Have you gone deaf, m’lord?" She mocked his now lack of title.

His voice was low, dangerous, “You will say it again.”

Coolly, she obliged, "You have lost. Your family is dead. The war is over. The Blacks sit the throne. And you… you are alone."

His jaw tightened as he inhaled sharply.

"And I am expected to take the word of some common healer in some nameless hut?" His eye flicked around the cottage in distaste, “Who’s to say my brother hasn’t won and you are a sympathiser to the whore Queen?”

Now she smiled, and despite the hatred he felt for her, he noted that it was a pretty smile.

"My word means nothing, Aemond."

His eye narrowed at the sound of his name on her tongue.

But she continued, for the first time speaking longer than he had expected, "I could tell you many things. Promise you more. But it wouldn’t change my station or yours."

She leaned in, voice calm.

"And if I were the sympathiser you accuse me of being," Her voice dipped almost to a whisper, almost sultrily, "I would have slit your throat where you lay."

Aemond laughed, humourless, "You think I will stay here? That I will rot in this hut?"

Her eyes flicked to his leg, then to the door, "You’re free to leave, kinslayer."

His breath caught.

He went utterly still.

"Say that again."

She raised her brows, "How many times are you going to ask me to repeat myself? I'm not a parrot from High Garden, m'lord. You don’t like the truth I speak?"

With her hands, she pinched his wound together and readied her needle, not asking if he was ready. She could feel his heated glare atop her skull.

The healer could admit that she had stitched the first stitch more roughly than she could have, knowing it would have pained him. She felt his stomach clench beneath her as she worked, the heat from his skin almost scolding her hands like the water in the basin.

Lips curling, seething, he hissed lowly in threat, "Watch your tongue, woman."

A large hand snapped out and wrapped around the wrist holding the needle and squeezed painfully.

We have finally reached the threats, she mused to herself dryly and hummed an amused laugh.

Aemond moved to sit up again and she managed to move a well placed, albeit cruel, hand against one of his broken ribs and pressed, which made the prince gasp in pain and stiffen against the bed stilling.

"If you’re going to undo my work," She said smoothly, "I should’ve left you to die as your men did."

She paused for a moment.

She knew his distrust of her would prove to be an issue with him now being conscious. He would fight her at every turn and spit vitriol her way. She no doubted that he would test her patience and she would consider dosing his food with a sleeping draught. Perhaps even some milk of the poppy.

She would have offered it to him sooner if he had not been so aggressive in his questioning. 

"You knew who I was."

Her lips twitched into a smile.

His eye narrowed, "Why?"

Why did she save him?

Why did she tend to him?

What was her motive?

The mystery surrounding her set his hair on end.

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. He was not sure he liked it, the way she looked at him. As though he was a question to be answered, a thing to be fixed. Rather than a man to be feared.

“Would you have preferred to die?"

Aemond did not answer.

He should say no.

Should say he still has vengeance to take, a name to reclaim, a war to fight. A throne to win. But the truth sat thickly in his throat.

There was nothing left.

“You want me to trust your word?” Aemond scoffed, the colour in his cheeks fading again.

With a sigh she worked his wound, stitching it back together methodically, "You may recall I never asked for your trust. I couldn’t care for your thoughts of me." Her tone cool and emotionless, "Feel free to die now if you wish, it would save me the trouble and herbs.” She tied shut the final stitch.

There was a brief moment of silence between them, only the sound of the cracking fire.

He was left to stew in his shattered pride and frustration, the knowledge that he would never be the same, and the added humiliation that he now depended upon a woman such as her. 

His voice was a blade at her throat. "I have killed men for less."

A smirk played at her lips. "And yet here I stand," She straightened, looking down at his broken body to prove her point. He could not stand, not without help.

Not without her.

"And there you lay."

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[thewulf]

Entwined Realms || Legolas

Summary: Request: So I thought about this idea with Legolas x reader where the reader is the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn (which makes her princess of Lothlorien and a very high elf) and she is nervous because its commonly known that Galadriel and Thranduil dont like each other (she is still his superior but you get the point) and the reader and Legolas have a dinner or some council or something together with their parents.

A/N: This was one of my favs to write. Just love everything LOTR... please keep them coming! Thank you for the request @lillisummers

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Word Count: 4.1k +

TW: Talks of war/death

In the timeless realm of Lothlórien, you, the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn, walked among the golden trees with a heavy heart filled with the weight of ancient grudges. It had been many years since you last tread upon these familiar paths, for you had spent much of your time in Rivendell, aiding in the healing of those who bore the scars of war.

As a princess of the high elves, you bore the burden of your lineage with grace. Yet the tension between your mother and Thranduil, the Elvenking of Mirkwood, weighed heavily upon you. The animosity between them was no secret, and you often found yourself caught in the midst of their disagreements. You were torn between loyalty to your mother and the desire for unity among your people after the war of the ring. Your return to Lothlórien had been sudden, called back by your father during the darkest days of the war. The news of battles raging across middle earth had filled you with dread. Yet, you knew that your place was by your family's side, lending whatever aid you could in the struggle against the darkness.

Despite the discord that lingered between your realms you held onto hope, believing in the power of unity to overcome adversity. The memories of Celebrian's capture and torture haunted you still. She drove your determination to see an end to the suffering that had plagued your people for so long.

As you walked beneath the golden canopy of the trees, you found solace in the familiar sights and sounds of Lothlórien. The gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze, the soft glow of the evening sun filtering through the branches. They spoke to you of peace and beauty, reminding you of all that was worth fighting for in this world. Your steps carried you towards a familiar spot. The quiet glade where the gravestones of those fallen in battle lay. The air was hushed. The only sound was the soft whisper of leaves and the gentle trickle of water from the nearby streams.

Stopping by the gravestones, you traced your fingers over each weathered stone, feeling the weight of loss settle upon your heart. Here, beneath the earth, lay the brave souls who had given their lives in service of a greater cause. A cause that you had fought for alongside them. Your thoughts turned to Haldir, the gallant Marchwarden who had stood by your side in the darkest of times. His laughter, his kindness, his unwavering loyalty… they were memories that you held dear, memories that would live on long after he had passed from this world. At one point you were convinced you would marry him but that was before he was taken so suddenly from you.

Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself a moment of silence. A moment to remember those who had been taken from you too soon. Their faces flashed before your eyes, friends, fighters, and loved ones alike. Each one leaving behind an indelible mark upon your soul. And yet, amidst the sorrow, there was also hope. Hope for a future where their sacrifices would not be in vain. Where the darkness would be banished for good and the light would shine so brightly once more. With a silent prayer upon your lips, you vowed to carry their memory with you always, to honor their legacy in all that you did.

As you stood amidst the gravestones, lost in memories and reflections, a soft voice broke through the silence. She was calling your name. You turned to see your mother, Galadriel, approaching with a gentle smile upon her lips. Her eyes, always so wise and knowing, held a depth of understanding that eased the ache in your heart.

"Y/n," she said, her voice like the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind, "I have been searching for you. It is good to see you home again. You look well my love."

You returned her smile, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort wash over you at the sight of her familiar face. "It is good to be home, Mother," you replied, stepping forward to embrace her.

Galadriel held you close, tight. Her arms a reassuring embrace amidst the turmoil of emotions swirling within you. "You have been missed, my dear," she said softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

As you pulled away, Galadriel's gaze softened. Her eyes filled with a mixture of pride and affection. "There is much to discuss," she said, her voice taking on a more serious tone. "But first, I have news that I believe will bring you much joy."

Curiosity piqued, you listened as Galadriel spoke of the upcoming marriage between your niece, Arwen, and Aragorn, the King of Gondor. The news filled you with a sense of anticipation, the prospect of a wedding bringing a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness that had shrouded middle earth for so long. "I would be honored to attend," you said. Your heart swelling with love for your family and excitement for the joyous occasion to come.

Galadriel smiled, her eyes sparkling with pride. "I had no doubt that you would," she said, her voice tinged with warmth. "Come, let us return to Caras Galadhon and begin preparations. There is much to do, and little time to waste." She motioned you to follow her.

With a nod of agreement, you fell into step beside your mother. It felt as though the weight of grief and loss lightened by the promise of love and celebration on the horizon. As you walked the golden light of Lothlórien illuminated your path guiding you towards a future filled with possibility.

Too quickly the day of celebration arrived. The grand halls of Minas Tirith were adorned with banners and flowers, filling the air with a sense of festivity and anticipation. You, dressed in your finest elven attire, mingled with the guests. Your heart was aflutter with excitement and nerves for your niece and the King of Gondor. Amidst the bustling crowd, your eyes scanned the faces of those gathered taking in the sight of strangers and acquaintances alike. And then your gaze met that of a mysterious elven stranger across the ornate courtyard who you did not recognize.

His eyes were a captivating shade of blue. They held a warmth and kindness that drew you in, sending a shiver down your spine. For a brief moment it felt as though the world around you had faded away leaving only you and this enigmatic stranger in a universe of your own making. But as quickly as the moment had come, it was gone. Broken by the sound of laughter and music drifting through the air you tore your gaze away. Your cheeks flushed with a mixture of curiosity and excitement, heart racing with the memory of that brief but electrifying encounter.

Though you knew not who he was, nor what fate had in store for you. You couldn't shake the feeling that this chance meeting was somehow significant. And as you allowed yourself to be swept away by the joyous festivities you couldn't help but wonder about the identity of the mysterious elven stranger who had captured your attention with a single glance.

As the celebration unfolded you found yourself standing beside Arwen, basking in the glow of her happiness as she greeted guests and well-wishers. The air was filled with laughter and music. The joyous atmosphere infectious as people celebrated the union of Arwen and Aragorn. But amidst the revelry your attention kept drifting back to the beautiful blonde elf who had caught your eye earlier. He stood amidst a group of guests, his presence commanding and his gaze holding a quiet intensity that seemed to draw you in.

Unable to contain your curiosity any longer you turned to Arwen with a hint of nervousness in your voice. "Arwen," you began, pointing subtly towards the mysterious elf, "who is that?"

Arwen followed your gaze, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she noticed your interest in the stranger. "Ah, him," she said, her tone tinged with mystery. "That is Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood."

Legolas. The name echoed in your mind. Though you knew little about him there was something about the way he carried himself, the way his eyes seemed to hold a thousand untold stories that intrigued you beyond measure. As Arwen spoke of Legolas' exploits and noble deeds you found yourself captivated by the tales of his courage and valor. And though you knew it was foolish to be so taken with a stranger, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to him. Something that called to you on a level you couldn't quite understand.

With a grateful smile you thanked Arwen for indulging your curiosity. Though your mind was already consumed with thoughts of the mysterious Prince of Mirkwood. And as you turned your attention back to the festivities you couldn't help but wonder what secrets lay hidden beneath the surface of the captivating blonde elf who had captured your attention with a single glance.

As the evening wore on, the atmosphere grew more relaxed. You found yourself drawn into the lively conversations and laughter that filled the air.

As if he had known your every thought, he had come right up to you. A charming smile playing on his lips as he offered you a goblet of wine. "Care for some wine, my lady?" he asked, his voice smooth and all too inviting.

Grateful for the distraction you accepted the goblet with a smile, the cool liquid soothing the nerves that had been fluttering in your stomach. "Thank you," you replied, taking a sip and relishing the taste of the rich, fruity wine.

As you savored the wine, Legolas took a seat beside you. His eyes alight with curiosity as he extended his hand in introduction. "I am Legolas," he said, his tone warm and genuine. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

You felt a rush of excitement at the sound of his name, "And I am Y/n," you replied, your voice betraying a hint of nervousness that you quickly tried to mask.

Legolas smiled warmly at you, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes as he raised his own goblet in a silent toast. "Well then, Y/n, here's to new acquaintances and delightful conversations," he spoke.

As the evening progressed, you found yourself drawn into conversation with Legolas. His easy charm and quick wit putting you at ease. Despite your initial nervousness you soon found yourself laughing and chatting with him as if you had known each other for years. With each passing moment you felt yourself growing more and more enchanted by Legolas. His presence filling you with a sense of warmth and belonging that you hadn't felt in a long time. Not since before your sister had set sail. And as you shared stories and laughter with the captivating Prince of Mirkwood you couldn't help but wonder what adventures lay in store for you both in the days to come.

When the topic turned to your family, you couldn't help but feel a pang of apprehension, unsure of how he would react upon learning the truth. "Your parents must be proud of you," Legolas remarked, his voice sincere as he glanced around at the grandeur of Minas Tirith. "To have a daughter as kind and courageous as you."

You smiled, touched by his words. Though a part of you hesitated to reveal your true lineage. "Thank you, Legolas," you replied, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "My parents... they are indeed proud, though our family is not without its complexities."

Legolas cocked his head with curiosity shining bright in his eyes. "Complexities?" he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for his reaction. "My parents are Celeborn and Galadriel," you confessed, watching closely for any sign of recognition or judgment in his expression.

To your surprise, Legolas' eyes widened in genuine surprise, his gaze softening with understanding. "Galadriel," he murmured, a hint of awe in his voice. "The Lady of Light herself. And Celeborn, the Lord of Lothlórien."

You nodded, relieved by his reaction. "Yes, though our family is not without its challenges," you admitted, your voice growing quiet. "There are... tensions between my parents and certain others in Middle-earth." You knew he knew, and he knew you knew. The two of you were dancing around your parents disdain for the other.

Legolas' expression grew somber. A shadow passing over his features. "I understand," he said, his tone tinged with empathy. "My own father, Thranduil, can be... difficult at times."

You felt a surge of empathy for Legolas knowing all too well the challenges that could arise from strained familial relationships. "It seems we are not so different after all," you said. A small smile playing at your lips.

Legolas returned your smile, his eyes warm and understanding. "Indeed," he said, his voice gentle. "But perhaps together, we can find a way to bridge the divide between our families."

Touched by his sincerity you could only keep grinning at him like a fool. "I would like that, Legolas," you replied. Your heart swelled with gratitude for the bond that was beginning to form between you.

As the night wore on into the wee hours of the morning you and Legolas found yourselves drawn deeper into each other's company. The hours quickly slipping away unnoticed as you laughed and talked beneath the starlit sky. The connection between you grew stronger with each passing moment. A bond of friendship and understanding blossoming into something deeper and more profound. Unfortunately, the celebration began to wind down. You found yourselves reluctant to part ways. The prospect of saying goodbye filling you with a sense of melancholy. "Perhaps we could extend our stay in Minas Tirith," Legolas suggested, his voice tinged with a hint of worry as if you wouldn’t accept. "There is still so much more to see and do. I have not seen this city without war disparaging it."

You nodded eagerly, the idea of spending more time with Legolas filling you with a sense of joy and excitement. "I would like that very much," you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "There is still so much more we have yet to see. You distracted me tonight."

And so, you and Legolas remained in Minas Tirith for longer than planned, seizing every opportunity to steal away moments alone together amidst the hustle and bustle of the city. Whether wandering the streets hand in hand or sharing quiet conversations in secluded corners. Each moment spent in Legolas' company felt like a precious treasure, a memory to be cherished for eternity.

As your extended stay in Minis Tirith came to an end the bond between you and Legolas deepened further than you could have imagined. Your hearts intertwining in a dance as old as time itself. One evening beneath the stars after your going away dinner the two of you sat together in the quiet solitude of the gardens, surrounded by the scent of blooming flowers and the gentle hum of crickets. The words you had been longing to say spilled forth from your lips.

"Legolas," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "there is something I must confess to you." It truly was now or never for you did not know the next time you would see the elf that had captured your heart so quickly.

Legolas turned to you, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "Yes, Y/n?" he replied, his voice soft and reassuring.

"I know this is quick,” you began, your voice soft and hesitant, "And we tend to do this slow, but I must admit... I really like you. More than a friend would."

You glanced away, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you awaited his response. But when you dared to meet his gaze once more you found Legolas looking at you with a tender smile. His eyes filled with a warmth that mirrored your own feelings.

"Y/n," he said softly, reaching out to gently take your face in his hand, "your honesty means the world to me. I too have come to care for you deeply as well. As more than a friend would."

Your heart soared at his words. A sense of joy flooding through you at the knowledge that your feelings were reciprocated. And as you sat together in the quiet beauty of the gardens you knew that your bond with Legolas was something truly special. It was the beginning of a love story that was just beginning to unfold.

You didn’t want the night to end so you kept your wandering through the gardens. "Legolas," you began, your voice tinged with concern, "what do you think about... our families?"

Legolas glanced at you. His gaze thoughtful. "Ah, our esteemed parents," he replied with a wry smile. "Stubborn as ancient oaks and twice as difficult to move."

You couldn't help but laugh at his analogy, feeling a sense of relief at his lighthearted approach to the situation. "Yes, that's one way to put it," you agreed. A smile playing at the corners of your lips.

"But," Legolas continued, his tone turning more serious, "I believe they will come around in time. After all, love has a way of softening even the hardest of hearts."

You nodded feeling a flicker of hope kindling within you. "I hope you're right," you replied, leaning closer to him. "I just want them to see... how much we care for each other."

Legolas placed a comforting arm around your shoulders, drawing you closer to him. "They will, Y/n," he said softly, his voice filled with quiet confidence. "And until then, we'll just have to prove them wrong together."

As your time in Minas Tirith drew to a close, you couldn't shake the feeling that it was time for your parents and Legolas to meet. Despite the tension between your families, you were determined to show them that love knew no bounds, and that their differences could be set aside in the name of happiness.

On the morning that both of you were to depart you knew what you had to do. "Legolas," you began. Your voice tinged with nervousness, "I know it's unconventional, but... what if you and your father were to visit Lothlórien?"

Legolas blinked in surprise, clearly taken aback by your suggestion. "Visit Lothlórien?" he echoed, his brow furrowing in thought. "It's an... intriguing idea, Y/n, but I'm not sure how my father would feel about it."

You nodded, understanding Legolas' reservations. "I know it's a risk," you admitted, "but I believe that if he could experience the beauty and hospitality of Lothlórien for himself, he might begin to understand... and perhaps even appreciate our way of life."

Legolas considered your words for a moment before a smile spread across his face. "You may be right, Y/n," he said, his eyes alight with excitement. "Let's extend the invitation to my father and see what he says."

With a renewed sense of hope, you and Legolas set about preparing for Thranduil's visit to Lothlórien. You knew it wouldn't be easy, but you were determined to show both him and your parents that love could conquer even the deepest of divides. And so, with hearts full of anticipation and determination, you bid farewell to Minas Tirith. You knew that a new chapter of your journey was about to begin.

As Legolas and an initially reluctant Thranduil arrived in Lothlórien, the tension between them was palpable. Thranduil's expression was stoic and reserved, while Legolas wore a strained smile who was clearly uncomfortable with the situation. You greeted them warmly, hoping to ease the atmosphere, but even your efforts seemed to fall flat in the face of the lingering animosity between your parents. The initial interactions were awkward only filled with polite but strained conversation and forced smiles.

But as the evening progressed and the wine flowed freely the atmosphere began to shift. Your parents, Thranduil, and Legolas found themselves gradually relaxing in each other's company. The rigid barriers between them slowly melting away under the influence of hope after the war and shared experiences. You watched with a mixture of joy and relief as the tension dissipated, replaced by laughter and genuine conversation. Thranduil who had initially been so guarded found himself opening up. He began to share stories and jokes with Celeborn and Galadriel as if they were old friends.

And Legolas, too, seemed to come alive in the warmth of his father’s acceptance. His smile growing more genuine with each passing moment. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders finally allowing him to truly be himself in their presence. He chuckled at one of Thranduil's jokes and clinked glasses with Celeborn, a genuine smile gracing his features.

In the midst of the conversation Legolas turned to you, his eyes sparkling with affection. "Meleth nin," he said softly, his voice filled with utmost warmth.

As Legolas inadvertently uttered the Elvish endearment, my love, the words hung in the air laden with the weight of unspoken emotions. Your heart skipped a beat at his slip-up, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through you.

"Really?" you exclaimed. Your eyes widened with surprise and utmost delight. For a moment you almost forgot that your parents and Legolas' father were present too caught up in the rush of emotion that swept over you.

Legolas blinked, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he realized what he had said in front of the parents. "I... uh, I mean..." he stammered, clearly flustered by your reaction.

But before he could finish, Thranduil let out a soft chuckle. The elvenking’s eyes twinkling with amusement. "It seems our children are more than just friends," he remarked to your parents. His tone surprisingly light-hearted.

You turned to your parents with a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I guess we should have mentioned that sooner," you admitted feeling a surge of relief as you saw their understanding smiles.

Celeborn and Galadriel exchanged knowing glances before Celeborn spoke up. "Love has a way of revealing itself in unexpected ways," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "We are happy for you both."

Thranduil let out a small chuckle. His eyes crinkling with amusement. "Young love," he said before shaking his head in mock exasperation. "It seems like only yesterday that Legolas was just a boy chasing after butterflies in the woods."

Legolas rolled his eyes playfully at his father's comment. "I assure you, Ada, I have grown up a bit since then," he spoke. His tone teasing but affectionate.

Celeborn chuckled softly his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Indeed," he agreed, his voice warm. "But some things never change." He motioned to you with a knowing grin.

And as the tension melted away completely, replaced by laughter, and shared understanding, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unwavering support of your parents. With their blessing and acceptance, you and Legolas knew that your love story was only just beginning. You were finally destined to have a beautiful and unforgettable journey filled with laughter, joy, and the sweet promise of a future together. You had waited a long time for this. A very long time.

As the night grew deeper and the fire crackled softly, you and Legolas found yourselves immersed in a comfortable silence. The two of you basking in the warmth of each other's presence. Legolas turned to you with a playful glint in his eyes, taking your hand in his. "Well, my dear, it seems the hour grows late," he remarked, his voice soft and warm.

You nodded feeling a surge of affection for the elf beside you. "Yes, it does," you replied, a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

With a gentle tug on your hand Legolas rose to his feet pulling you up with him. "Allow me to escort you to your room," he said. His voice filled with gentle sincerity.

You followed him, the touch of his hand sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. As you reached your door, Legolas turned to you. His eyes sparkling with mischief. "Until next time, meleth nin," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before turning to leave.

A faint blush coated your cheeks at his actions. “Until next time, meleth nin.” You repeated. You watched him go with a smile playing at your lips as you realized that no matter what adventures lay ahead, you would face them with him. Oh, what a life.

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[moeitsu]

I might just be talking out of my ass. But something that’s been lingering on my mind lately is the aftermath of Arthur’s death on that cliffside. Specifically, how long Arthur’s body may have remained there before Charles found him—if he even found him at all.

I see a lot of fanart and fiction often depicting Charles finding Arthur’s body within hours or days of his passing, and giving him a proper burial. But when I was revisiting the later chapters of the game, I was reminded that Charles left the gang to help the Wapiti tribe. He had no way of knowing exactly when or how Arthur’s end would come, only that the gang’s days, and Arthur’s, were numbered.

Realistically, Charles may not have stumbled upon Arthur’s remains for weeks, maybe even months. By then, time and nature would have taken their toll. Left exposed to the elements, scavengers would likely have picked Arthur’s body clean, leaving behind only bones. Rain, wind, and sunlight would have further eroded what was left, leaving a weathered skeleton, possibly unrecognizable as the man Charles once knew.

The game itself offers a glimpse of what a decayed body looks like in its world. Arthur occasionally stumbles upon long-abandoned homesteads or corpses, their identities erased by time, with only bones and scraps of skin or hair remaining.

Imagining Charles finding Arthur in such a state is heartbreaking. I can’t help but picture the overwhelming guilt he’d feel, seeing his friend reduced to a pile of remains, knowing Arthur had died alone and was left without a proper burial.

At this stage of decomposition, Arthur’s body would have already begun to return to the earth. The natural process of decay means that as soft tissues break down, they nourish the surrounding environment. Fungi and bacteria consume what remains, transforming flesh into nutrients for plants and animals. Perhaps, by the time Charles arrived, Arthur’s body was already entwined with the landscape—grass and wildflowers sprouting where his blood had soaked into the soil.

It’s a grim yet oddly beautiful image. Arthur Morgan, a man who spent so much of his life trying to redeem himself and do right by others, becoming part of the natural world he loved dearly. A man who gave everything he had to the people he saw as family. Always giving, giving, giving. Until there is absolutely nothing left but his body, and yet he gives that to the Earth too.

I imagine Charles, determined to honor his friend, carefully gathering what remained—bone fragments, perhaps even a few lock of Arthur’s hair and bits of clothing. Wrestling with the forces of nature to reclaim his friend from the earth. Despite the difficulty, Charles would have ensured Arthur’s remains were laid to rest properly, in a place where the flowers could bloom in his memory, and the earth could cradle him in peace.

Call me morbid, but there’s something hauntingly beautiful about this idea: that Arthur, a man shaped by the rugged wilderness, would ultimately be reclaimed by it. His story, his legacy, and even his physical form returning to the land he roamed freely.

Don’t even get me started on his reincarnation as a Buck.

[evagreen-stories]

Mother of the Realm | (Daemon x f!noble!reader) (part 1/?)

Summary: Left behind after the blacks take King's Landing, Aemond’s Lady-Wife finds herself striking a certain arrangement with the rogue prince to guarantee her and her children's safety, though strange occurrences should change the conditions of this arrangement drastically.

Warnings: dark!themes, dubcon/coercion, warcrimes, dark!daemon, age gap, time typical gender roles, lactation kink, breeding kink, p in v, throat fuck, canon typical behaviour, slight degradation, mentions of noncon/forced pr0stitution, mentions of violence, mention of arranged marriage

Non-Canon Storyline: : two years into the civil war, reader (young Lady of house Celtigar) married to Aemond, the war drags on for longer than in canon

Disclaimer: This Fic is written on the basis that most of what mushroom says is true! The story came to me in a fever dream and I felt like typing it out lol. This storyline is mixed of book  / hearsay / imagination; I tried to write it all out in a way that makes sense and is easy to follow.

Divider @targaryen-dynasty

my masterlist series moodboard series masterlist

It's the dance of the dragons, the war has been going on for two years and has escalated to new dimensions of destruction and violence, with the blacks now having invaded and taken over Kings Landing and the Red Keep where you, the lady wife of Aemond Targaryen, live as well.

Married a year before the dance of dragons began, you have given him two sons already; a young boy of 26 months old, Rhaegar, and a babe of 11 months, Baelor, and are with your third; four months along, the maester’s presume.

Most green supporters were now locked in cells while you and your children were imprisoned in your chambers; a privilege you received as you are the only daughter of Lord Bartimos Celtigar, a loyal supporter of the blacks.

Who knows, had your father not been swayed by the sweet words and reassurances of queen Alicent, hadn’t fallen trap into accepting the marriage proposal to Aemond in an effort of hers to sway your house’s loyalty in favour of her side, perhaps then you would now be standing on the other side of this door as a free woman. 

Instead, your own husband had kept you surveilled at all times ever since the war began, in fear you would run away and join the blacks, and had forbidden you from leaving the Red Keep ever since his return from Storm’s End where he had gone to secure a betrothal for his younger brother Daeron to one of the Baratheon girls; an endavour that would end with the death of Lucerys Velaryon and jump-start the most brutal civil war seen to date.

Followed by at least one kings guard as soon as you stepped out of your chambers, the presence of your husband and the freedom to roam the gardens and halls had made it easy to forget your new house rules on most days.

With the confinement you had found yourself in ever since the war began you had turned all your attention and efforts into becoming the best and most loving mother you could be. A desire perhaps fueled by the clear preference of your own mother towards your brothers.

You wanted to be better than that. You studied books and listened to old wives' tales ever since you had flowered, knowing it wouldn’t be long until you would be wed off to fulfil your duty as a proper lady-wife.

And fulfil your duty you would. Unlike most other nobles you had taken to not employing a wet nurse or nursemaids at all.

Being made prisoner in your own home freed up all your time to be able to do so. Your sons would sleep in your chambers and be on your lap all day long. Both had only ever drank your milk, knowing no other chest but their mother’s.

And yet, what had once been a cage with thin, golden bars and a nice view, had now turned into one of thick stone walls, the confinement of your chambers only being eased by the presence of your two young children.

The days were long alone, yet more peaceful for you than you had expected them to be. Even if your father had not come to see you once, you did speak to your trusted servants, listening to the tales they would tell you about just what was going on outside the very wooden door you would stare at daily. 

And by the sevens, was it horrifying.

Rhaenyra, now dubbed ‘the cruel’ and ‘Maegor with teats’, had ordered the forceful taking of the two queen's Alicent and Helaena to a pleasure house, their services to be sold to whoever could afford it; at least those are the rumours that have been spread around the castle grounds.

Any woman would think this fate horrifying but even more so you: as wife of the prince regent at the court of the usurper you certainly were an easy target for the mad queen’s wrath. Worry of being made to share the same fate consumed you more with each day; a fear that would eventually make you request an audience with Rhaenyra.

Instead of her, you now find yourself with her husband the rogue prince – or now, the king consort – Daemon standing in front of you.

“I requested to speak to Rhaenyra.”

“Yes. And now you’ve got me. Speak before I change my mind.”

You stay silent for a few moments, pondering how to ask the question. "Is it true what they claim? About Alicent and Helaena, the pleasure house?"

"Oh it is true," Daemon said, walking slowly towards you as he spoke, his eyes roaming you from your head to your feet. He stopped a few feet before you and looked into your eyes, the smell of sweat and ash surrounding the dragon rider. 

"Alicent is not a hostage nor a political ploy - she is a traitor, guilty of high treason, and will be treated as such. The usurper queen may say otherwise but we all know the truth."

“What about Helaena?” You say, almost pleading, Alicent and you had clashed often over the past two years, your differences in mothering and you not being devout to the faith being a frequent cause of argument; but Helaena – oh, sweet Helaena – is a different story.

Another victim of powerful scheming. You had to watch her suffer tremendously from the effects of blood & cheese, something that too shook you to the core. The son of your dear friend, slain so horrendously right in front of his mother and siblings. 

"She had no choice in any of it, she is innocent."

"Helaena," Daemon said, scoffing at the mention of her name. Of all the greens, Helaena was the only one that he didn't really hate. "She may be innocent, but she knows what kind of people her mother and brother are and she remains loyal to them. What does that say of her?"

"Helaena never had a choice, neither did I. We are not like your wife Daemon; we did not have the blessing of having a king as our father that would let us do however we pleased. We were all forced into this." You protest, frustration now evident in your voice. "You have already killed her son. Beheaded him infront of her own eyes. Is that not enough?"

“We did not kill him; we simply avenged our own.” Daemon's scowl deepened as you spoke, though he had to admit you were right, at least somewhat. "Fine. It seems you are the only one who wants to plead for her safety. I will speak to the rightful queen, perhaps she won't be entirely opposed to your request of freeing Helaena.."

Daemon paused for a moment, gaze lowering to your bump, before speaking again. "Tell me. Who is the father of the child you are carrying?"

You look down your small bump at his words, laying a hand on it reflexively. "My husband, Aemond, of course. Why?"

Daemon took note of your movements as your hand went to your belly, a flicker of hatred in his eyes when you said Aemond's name. "Just making an observation. How old are you now? 20? And already three kids at your heels…”

"I will turn 19 soon. Yes, I’m carrying my third child. What of it?" you tilt your head slightly, taken aback by his change of topic and his increasingly intrusive questions.

"Three children, at nineteen." Daemon seemed almost impressed. He looked at your belly again.

"I don't know of what concern my husband and I's private matters are." Your voice betrays you, sounding way more hostile as you intended it to.

Daemon looked at you in a way that made you uncomfortable. He was eyeing your body up and down, and his silence made you feel his gaze prickling your skin. "Does your husband like seeing you pregnant?"

You stare at him silently, mouth agape at the shock of such an intimate question. "Yes..." You admit reluctantly.

A smirk broke through Daemon's frown, as a low chuckle came from his lips, eyes still lingering on your stomach. "He keeps you as his broodmare. You're clearly a fine one as well; babes not even out of the cradle before you’re with child again. I don't blame him."

"He is my husband. It's his right to have children with his wife." You say defensively; repeating the words you have been taught all your life.

"It is indeed." Daemon said, taking a step closer to you, invading your personal space. He took a deep breath through his nose, taking in your scent. This close, he could see his own reflection in your eyes. "His right, and your duty. You must be a good wife to please him so thoroughly."

You stare at him silently again, before shrugging timidly. "He doesn't complain." You don't want to risk saying too much, so you continue with the question you had been planning to ask all this while.

"Rhaenyra... What is she planning to do with me? With my children? I heard she has rewards out for Maelor…"

"She has no intention of killing you or your children. Though you may still be stripped of your title as princess." Daemon paused a moment before continuing. "As for Maelor... There is a bounty on his head, yes. He is the only remaining son of the usurper. Since he is so young she will let him live; but only under her influence." 

He raises his hand to tug a strand of hair behind your ear. "She contemplated selling you to the pleasure house as well, you know? But since you're gravid and played no instrumental part in their schemes, I could persuade her not to do so."

You look at him wide-eyed, feeling a pit form in your stomach, as if your worst fears had been confirmed. "What- a-are you jesting?"

Daemon took note of your reaction. He was still close, he could see the outline of a dimple in your cheek and smell the sweet scent of your milk surrounding you; a smell still clinging to your body as you had just finished feeding your youngest before he entered the room. 

"Indeed. Rhaenyra is not like other women. Much less merciful and the men that surround her even less so." He said, still smirking. His hand had found its way to your waist now, his fingers running along your side. "But a good word from me and I could persuade her not to do so. You should thank me."

You stare at him, your hand moving to hold onto his arm, ready to push him away. You study his face, recognising an unsettling darkness in them. "You wouldn’t do this just because. What is it you want from me?"

"Hmm..." Daemon took another deep breath, your scent was really strong with this one. Different notes were in your scent as well. He wondered if those were remnant of your perfume you had applied in the morning or perhaps an oil youve applied to your hair.

He let out a sigh as he tried to keep it from affecting him. He lowered his head towards yours and spoke slowly, every word a whisper. "No, you're right. I wouldn't do it just because. But for you, I could make some exceptions. You've always had my attention, you know that? The pretty little thing that you are, wed to my maimed nephew."

"What are you saying?" You try to sound brave but the quiver in your voice betrays you.

Daemon chuckled as he noticed your nervousness. He could tell from your shaking body that you were afraid. He put a hand under your chin, moving your head to look into his eyes. He spoke slowly and quietly.

"Let me have you and I shall guarantee your and your children's safety."

You stare at him bewildered, stunned silent for several long moments. "Are you mad? I will not betray my husband!"

Daemon chuckled, amused by your naivety and innocence. "Oh my sweet lady... Do you have any idea what you're in now? You're in war, taken hostage by your enemy. Your husband will be happy so long you don't die. I cannot sire a babe on you anyway, so there is nothing to worry about." Daemon smirked, looking at your stomach, and your body, that sweet aroma that surrounded you, drawing him closer and closer.

"Give yourself to me and I shall guarantee yours and your children’s wellbeing.” He doubles down.

You stare at him, trembling slightly in fear and anger, your voice growing quieter the more you struggle to contain your emotions. "You can't be serious. If... If my husband won't have my head for this, then your wife will."

He raised an eyebrow as you spoke, a smirk gracing his face. He was still holding onto you, close enough to kiss you if he wanted to. His gaze was fixed on your lips as well, and your scent was just so... Irresistible to him. 

"Rhaenyra won't care. In our marriage we are free to seek pleasure wherever we like as long as our loyalties don’t falter. The things I can do to you, you will enjoy them alright..." His voice became low and quiet again as he spoke the last words, the hand that previously rested on your waist now slithering around your back and ascending lower and lower with each passing moment.

You stare at him in disbelief, fear and anger boiling inside you. Just when you want to protest yet again, the loud sounds of something collapsing startle you, your head snapping to look around Daemon's wide frame with urgency.

Your eyes settle onto Rhaegar. The wooden tower he was building had collapsed, an inconvenience the toddler quickly moves on from by starting to build it anew. Baelor sits not far from him, abandoning his own toy to crawl over and investigate his brothers doings.

The anger you had been feeling subsides immediately, replaced by worry and an urge to cry as you worry for whatever their fate will be as this war continues.

You don't want this.

You do not want to let him touch you, but it might be the only way to protect your children from harm, especially considering how cruel rhaenyra has proven herself to be. Your stare is focused on your oldest still, watching as his tiny hands wrap around each block and meticulously place one onto the other.

So innocent, so fragile.

"What about them?" Your voice as soft as a whisper.

Daemon didn't take his eyes away from yours. His gaze burning into you as he studies every expression you make. Your scent, your warmth, almost driving him crazy. "They will be taken care of. I told you I wouldn't let them come to harm." He said as he ran a hand through your hair, the curls of your hair wrapping around his fingers. "Don't worry, sweet girl, all will be well. If you agree to my terms, that is."

He can watch your jaw clenching and eyes gloss over before hearing the ever so soft word he has been waiting for leaving your lips. "Fine."

Servants had been sent by Daemon to take your children to bathe them and play with them. You did not miss the sympathetic look they gave you. Perhaps being able to tell what will happen to you purely based on his instructions to not return until he tells them to. 

You’re standing at a window looking out at the city taking note of the sun lowering on the horizon, dressed in nothing but a simple silk robe, when the door opens and Daemon walks in without knocking.

He steps inside, wearing the same clothes from before; sword and dagger still at his side. He comes closer and takes in your appearance, pleased at the sight. He approaches you with a calm step until your bodies are mere inches apart, bringing his hand up to caress your arm.

"You’re trembling," Daemon spoke, his voice smooth and dark. His eyes were examining you again, taking in your appearance. You had changed from the last time he saw you, you looked more womanly now.

A mother to two already, with a third growing inside, the outline of your small bump visible through the loose fabric. His movements were precise and confident. You could tell he was trying hard to contain himself.

For now.

Your gaze follows the movements of his hand as it runs up and down your arm. You can feel his large calloused hand and cold skin through the thin fabric of your robe. It’s a stark contrast to your soft and warm skin, unmarked and unblemished from living sheltered all your life.

In a small voice, barely more than a whisper, you ask, “Can we just get this over with?”

Daemon nods, taking note of your trembling once more before he turns and walks over to a nearby table, taking off his sword and dagger and placing them onto it. His head tilted as he looked at you from where he is standing.

"You were quick to give into me so easily. Were you that desperate? Does your husband not satisfy you?" He said with a smirk, beginning to undo his tunic.

You tighten your jaw, upset at his words that, to you, sound accusatory of promiscuity - a sin for a highborn lady. A married one especially.

“Desperate to keep my children safe, yes. My husband always kept me well satisfied.”

"Hmm..." Daemon huffed. His body language shifted a little. He seemed more agitated and tense, not liking that you brought up Aemond's name, much less so that you praised him. He walked back towards you now, closing the distance slowly and taking a good look at you.

His eyes kept darting to your stomach as you spoke of your husband. With every movement you make you entice him even more. “I don't know what he does to you to satisfy you, but I assure you I can do it better."

You roll your eyes at his words; he had always been cocky.

"He and I are very compatible in that regard. Now, can you just do what you need to do? I'd prefer to get this over with soon." It was the truth. Aemond’s and your intimate life was very well. Three children in three years of marriage served as proof of that.

Daemon's blood was running hot at this point.

"Compatibilities. I see..." Daemon said, his words filled with mockery. "Well, there's nothing I'd prefer more right now than to be inside of you, so I guess we're compatible as well." He approaches you quickly, now dressed in nothing but his breeches, eagerly tugging at the belt holding your robe closed, watching as it falls open and reveals your bare body underneath.

He took a sharp breath as he took in your figure, almost letting out a moan of desire at the sight of your body, his gaze roaming your body eagerly.

“Gods, you’re stunning.” His gaze settles on your breasts, swollen from all the milk inside them. “I heard you don’t employ a wet nurse. Why is that?”

You stare ahead blankly, trying not to make any sound or expression when you can feel his hand rest on the curve of your waist. “I don’t believe its good for the mother-child bond. That mothers should nurse their own children, or they will bond with the wet nurse instead.”

Daemon smirks at your response, thumb caressing over your delicate skin as he now looks at your face. “Is that so? Does your husband enjoy watching you breastfeed?” He asks with a low chuckle before pulling you in, his hardened length in his pants now pressing against your belly as He holds you close with both arms wrapped around your waist. “Or does he enjoy tasting your milk himself? Do not lie to me, woman. You won’t like the consequences if you do.”

Your hands rest on his chest, you’re fighting the urge to push him away with every fiber of your being, your head hanging low as you do not dare to look at him directly. You take note of his skin; scars and healed burns covering his muscular form. The body of a battle-hardened warrior.

Reluctantly you admit, “Both…”.

“Oh… you’re even more of a little whore than I thought, aren’t you?” he whispers into your ear. “What an eager to serve little thing you are. You’ll make a good little toy for me after all.” One arm wrapped still around your waist the other moves to your front, his large hand stroking over that small bump of yours.

“Almost makes me sad you’re with child already. I’d have loved to pound my own into you.”

Your head snaps up at him now, huffing in offense you exclaim, “Daemon!”

He simply smirks, amused by your objection. Leaning in close he whispers into your ear, his hot breath burning on your skin. “You may be carrying my nephew’s child now but there is always a next time. A few more months and I could still make you mine.”

He turns around with you in his arms, leading you backwards towards the bed until you feel the mattress on the back of your legs. A small push of his makes you sit down on it. Knowing your duty, you take it upon yourself to scoot fully onto the mattress.

He watches with a smile on his lips as you do so, happy with your compliance before reaching down and spreading your legs open for him to look after he noticed you keeping them shut.

He takes a good look at the treasure between them, groaning out when his manhood twitches at the sight of it. He stands up straight again, taking off the breeches that held him contained until now as his intense stare moves up your body once more.

You feel so vulnerable and exposed for him, completely bare and spread wide open for him to examine as the intensity of his gaze only intensifies. He does not look like a man now. With his pupils blown wide he resembles more a predator ready to pounce its prey than anything else.

His gaze fixed on your cunt, as if in a daze, he reaches out tentatively, his rough fingertips grazing along the sensitive flesh for painfully long moments.

Tracing along the form of your fleshy lips again and again, your breathing is but nervous gasping as one shiver after the other runs over your skin.

Suddenly the sensation fades as he climbs between your legs, one hand on your thigh to keep you spread open for him as he starts pushing himself into you without any more preparation, blissfully surprised to find your cunt wet and welcoming for him.

He can’t hold back a low groan as he pushes himself all the way into you, leaning forward and lying fully on top of you. His face is mere inches from yours as he slowly starts to move his hips, deeply penetrating you at a slow pace while he studies your every expression.

Grunting, your hands move to hold onto his sides as his knees dip into the mattress on either side of you. You clench your jaw tightly, trying to stop any sounds from escaping your lips while you struggle to accommodate him.

Aemond was more than enough to satisfy you, but Daemon was a whole lot more man than him – in all regards.

He knows this, too. Its easy for him to tell by the way your nails dig into his skin as you struggle to get used to him.

“How come you’re so eager, sweet thing? Do you enjoy a man taking charge of you?” A wicked grin on his face his movements become more powerful, your body rocking back and forth with the force of it.

You want to say no, to deny every second of it and not give him the satisfaction of watching you enjoy his touch, but when he starts to hit an all too familiar spot inside of you, you crumble immediately. Not being able to hold back your moans anymore you can barely manage to answer him with a weak “…yes”.

“No wonder my nephew wouldn’t stop breeding you. You’re the perfect little plaything.” He pushes his body into yours, pushing you into the mattress while he whispers into your ear. “Don’t worry, sweet girl. I will violate you properly and make sure you enjoy every second of it.”

With that, his thrusts quickly grow rougher, starting to pound you with such force the entire bed rocks with it, all while watching every expression on your face.

His breathing heavy and rasp he soon shifts his attention down to your breasts, that are bobbing up and down with each forceful clashing of his hips into your. He tried to control himself, he really did, but he just cant anymore.

A hand cupping your breast he leans in, taking the sensitive nub on it between his lips. Just a few soft movements of his tongue over it and he can already taste it. Feeling the warm and sweet liquid dripple onto his tongue makes him humm contently as he starts indulging himself in the sweetness of you. His hips grind into you deeply but at much more humane pace than before.

Your eyes shut in pleasure, your own hands moving by themselves as they embrace him, moving into his hair and caressing his back. This is what Aemond liked, your dear husband.

Oh, if you would ever see him again…

Daemon is surprised, you embracing him was the last thing he expected, even less so you pulling him in more, but he loved every second of it.

He would swear he is in heaven. The warm embrace of his cock while the sweetness of your milk covers his tongue driving him crazy. It could have been hours of him doing this or mere seconds, all he knows is he finds himself spilling his seed into you way sooner than he wanted to, his relentless thrusting an expression of his frustration as his loud moans fill the room, shameless and utterly unafraid of how much the guards outside your door will hear of this.

His slow and deep grinding into your cunt continues as he stays suckling on your breasts, his spend soon clinging to both of your hips and pulling long white strings whenever he pulls away only to push back in with even more force. His antics only cease when he is sure he has drank all of what you can give, both your breasts feeling comfortably light while a throbbing sensation in your cunt would stay with you until the next day, you're sure.

He collapses onto you, still deeply buried inside, squishing your breasts under his weight while his heavy breaths right in your ear send shivers down your spine. Your arms travel by themselves again, wrapping around him and holding him close. Just how Aemond has always demanded you hold him.

“You’re a very good fuck… really good.” Daemon growls right into your ear.

A few moments later, he rolls off of you onto his back, laying next to you and catching his breath while studying your side profile.

This quiet moment gives you the first chance to gain back your senses, a wave of guilt washing over you as the sensation of another mans spend spilling out of you and running down your skin onto the mattress makes you realise the severity of what had just happened. Eyes fluttering, trying to ignore the burning sensation in them, you say, “I think… I think you should leave now.”

Had you have looked at him, you would have noticed his smiling face turn to stone in an instant.

This was the worst thing you could have said.

To command the dragon to leave your bed. He could not leave that be.

“Stay quiet. You have no say in this.” His voice is stern now and he rolls onto his side, leaning over your body and staring daggers into your skull, his hand grabbing your chin harshly and making you look at him. “If I want to abuse your pretty little cunt all night I will do so. And you will take it.”

“Don’t... don’t you have somewhere to be?” Your voice is shaky, your fear heightened by the anger you can see burn in his eyes. A desperate attempt of yours to sound considerate for his valuable time is only pouring more oil into the fire.

“Don’t try to tell me what to do. I have all the time in the world to play with you.” His fingers twitch slightly, as if holding back the urge to choke you. “Stop acting like a baby. You know the way of our world. You know when a woman is better off just taking a cock and shutting up.”

“Damn it, I need a break.” He sighs, it sounds almost like a growl as he tries to control his anger. He lets go of you, shoving you away slightly, as he gets up of the bed and takes a few deep breaths. “You got me all riled up, whore.”

You sit up in the bed, hugging your legs as you look at him. His large frame, the burn scars all over his back, his temper flaring and the sheer power he holds over your fate make you fear for the consequences.

You didn’t mean to upset his highness.

“Don’t call me a whore…” It slips out quietly under your breath, yet he hears it anyway. You weren’t used to such language. Despite his acts, Aemond would never say a foul word to you. 

Oh, Aemond…

“Shut up, whore!” Daemons raised voice take you out of your thoughts. He barks, closing in on you rapidly and pulling your head back with a tight grip on your hair. “Would I send you to the pleasure house being called a whore would be the least of your problems! Show me some gratitude!”

Daemon‘s anger takes over, mixed with his still pressing need in his cock, he drags you off the bed and pushes you to your knees in front of it, the bedframe pressing into your back uncomfortably.

“Perhaps I was too nice to you.” He growls, hand still in your hair as he makes you look up at him, ignoring all your pleas and apologies.

“Let me show you your new place in life. Open wide.” He commands, his other hand having a firm grasp on his cock as he traces the form of your lips with it.

For the first time ever since his first visiy earlier today, genuine fear overcomes you. Not daring to oppose him, you open your mouth as commanded, gagging immediately as he shoves himself into your mouth.

Aemond enjoyed the mouth pleasures as well yet had been far gentler than he was. Your hands move to Daemons thighs on their own, trying to push him back just a little, but when his second hand too moves to your head and holds it in place, all hope for ease is lost.

Tears start burning in your eyes in an instant once the thick head of his cock hits the back of your mouth, even more so when you can feel it push in deeper, forcefully flattening your tongue underneath as he made his way into your throat.

The room fills with his sounds of pleasure, guttural moans and growls, your desperate gagging and struggle drowned out by the volume of his.

The bed behind you and his hands in your hair make any escape impossible and you thank the gods when after what feels like an eternity he finally pulls out of your throat, a string of saliva connecting him to you as you gasp desperately for air.

“Fuck, that’s it,” his voice is deep and raw with lust, “That’s a good girl, finally.”

The praise does little to make any of it easier as he thrust himself back into your mouth and down your throat before you even had a chance to wipe your now freely flowing tears.

Daemon soon loses himself in his depravities, the fleshy pouch on his stones slapping harshly against your chin with each thrust. Your face a mess of tears and spit you’re unable to do much more than dig your nails into his thighs and take all he wants to give.

By the time he shoves himself all the way down your throat, his hips flush with your face as he tightly holds your head in place and spills what else he had left in him into you, you’ve near lost all grasp on reality.

Your back and knees aching near as much as your jaw, you can finally breathe in relief once he separates himself from you once and for all, leaving you collapsing forward with heavy breaths as he stumbles backwards a few steps, groaning in satisfaction as he studies your pitiful state.

“This is where you belong from now on,” he says after a while, “On your knees for me, whenever I want. Do you understand this now, whore?”

On your hands and knees, still breathing heavily and coughing occasionally, you take a few moments to find your voice again. Avoiding his gaze, you mumble, “…yes.”

“That is no way to talk to your king,” he objects, “Speak properly, whore. You’re a princess, you know how to.”

Defeated, you make no more attempts to be willful. Looking up at him, you answer, “I understand now, my king.”

A wicked smile on his face he approaches you, petting your head a few times. “That’s a good princess. Now clean yourself up. You would not want your spawn to see you like this.”

Leisurely walking back to where his clothes lay discarded, he starts dressing himself as if this all had been nothing out of the ordinary.

Adding “I will be back for more once I feel like it.”, he grabs his swords and disappears out of the door just as swiftly as when he had arrived, shutting it with a loud thud.

You were still on the floor, your back now resting against the bed as you spread out your aching legs in front of you, hoping for relief in this much more comfortable position.

A thousand thoughts run through your head yet not a single one stays long enough to grasp.

With no idea just how much time has passed it is the sound of commotion in the halls outside tour door that draws you out of your blank stare. It was late in the day now and the sky barely lit. It was suppertime for most, and undoubtedly, the maids would soon return with your sons and serve your own meals.

You had hardly managed to throw your nightrobe back on, wipe away the remnants of him with the nearest piece of cloth and open the windows, hoping to ease the smell of sex in the air, before the knocks echo through the room.

Just as predicted, here were your sons, in the same carefree mood they always were. Happy to see their mother and now ready for a meal. Supper was served not long after.

While you had received only stew and bread before, the table was now set with the first mouth-watering meal ever since you’ve been made prisoner. While you sit there, little Baelor on your lap and Rhaegar on a high chair next to you, you watch them intently.

The way each of them indulges in their meals, digging into the food with their bare hands and making a mess that no doubt would require a second bath before bed, your heart aches and you struggle to hold back the tears.

They are so innocent, completely oblivious to the death and suffering surrounding them. Their helplessness stands out to you. Unable to even feed themselves without help, they very much depend on you.

As you go on about the evening, taking the time and enjoying the presence of your two loved ones, by the time you lull the little ones to sleep, you’ve made your decision.

You will do all it takes to keep them safe. All it takes to keep them from harm.

And if that means submitting to Daemon’s every vice without complaint, then so be it.

Authors note: This story is currently halted as I focus on my Aemond and OC works for a while but will eventually continue. Follow me for updates or comment to be put on the taglist for this fic in the future!

View this series masterlist and moodboard for extra content.

[paulyenvol6]

A Dragon's Toy

Daemon Targaryen x Arlis Hightower (oc character) OS

Arlis is taken captive by Daemon's army during the war and can only await the Rogue Prince's next deeds in horror…

Contains: rape, non-con, smut, oral (f & m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, virginity loss, forced orgasms, degrading, angst, crying, choking, gagging, objectification, captivity, dark themes, hotd themes like death and violence

Wordcount: ~6.62k

Masterlist

Daemon inhaled deeply.

He tried not to seem too annoyed but they really made it hard for him right now.

"We need more men by the eastside of the camp."

"They are tired, my lord. Give them the chance to rest or they will lose their will to fight."

"The Greyjoys could use our ignorance after our victory and surprise us. We need these guards."

"They won't attack us tonight. They're weakened as well."

Daemon once again rolled his eyes at this draining atmosphere and hissed out. It was a quiet sound, merely audible and yet the men surrounding him stopped the conversation to turn their attention to the rogue prince.

"My prince," Ser Rickard Manderly spoke and Daemon tilted his head.

"Gather the men you need by the eastside. But let them celebrate. They can guard the camp in shifts."

A few lords nodded but others looked uncertain while exchanging glances with each other. For some reason it made the blood in his veins boil and he fisted his hands. Gods, why were these men always so tiring and dull. All Daemon wanted after this long fight was a possibility to reduce the adrenaline in his body that always kept him aroused after a battle. Preferable with a whore but as the next whorehouse was tens of miles away he knew that he perhaps had to fall back to his own hand this time. The fact was that he needed quietness, maybe had to spill his seed, get rid of the tension in his center and find some good sleep afterwards.

That was why this conversation with his bannermen and commanders was exhausting him right now because all he wanted was the peace and privacy of his tent in order to act according to his desires.

"Is there anything else?" he therefore asked the group and when they shook their heads Daemon crossed his arms in front of his chest. The had hesitated but it didn't matter to him.

"Good. If you would excuse me now," he sarcastically smiled and intended to leave the council.

To his tent now. His blood was throbbing, he had the urge to hit something or squeeze something. He just had to do something. Daemon was so close to it when someone called his name. So fucking close that he had almost been able to feel the fabric that served as the door to his tent and that he had been about to shove to the side. But of course not. Of course it was Ser Enies who made him freeze in the motion and Daemon couldn't hide the displeasure on his face.

"My prince. My prince, there is an urgent matter that needs to be discussed."

He inhaled deeply again and bit his buttom lip in fury.

"What is it?" he snapped.

Ser Enies held his side trying to calm his fastened breath.

"We… We've captured Otto's daughter. She wanted to flee but a few of our riders found her on her way to the west."

Daemon raised his eyebrows. "Alicent?"

"No, her sister. The lady Arlis."

He didn't know her. He had only briefly known that Hightower, the old cunt had several sons and daughters. Well, now he was dead and as were many of his children but seemingly not all.

"Where is she?" Daemon unwillingly asked.

He wished someone else would just take on his tasks so he could finally rest but of course as the prince it was him who had to solve every single problem.

"Right there in the tent. She was so wild and upset, we had to chain her to a chair. She screamed and shouted and bit several of our men but we have her under control now."

Daemon couldn't surpress a dark chuckle. Were these his warriors or fools? Not being able to catch a little girl… Nevertheless the rogue prince turned his body away from the tent that he had wanted to enter so dearly and decided to take care of this matter now.

"Fine," he growled and followed Ser Eries to the mentioned tent. The knight pulled the tent flap aside and Daemon stepped in.

The first thing he saw was a lot of hair. Brown, messy hair that stood up to all sides. She was moving, desperately trying to free herself from the iron chains that held her in place but obviously she wasn't able to.

Ser Eries, who was the only person in the tent now beside him and the girl came forward and roughly grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back so Daemon could take a look at her.

"The lady Arlis, my prince. Otto's youngest daughter from the lady Ellena."

She was pretty, was the first thought that entered his brain in this moment. Big round hazel eyes with thick lashes that made them appear even more intense, a heart-shaped face and full pink soft-looking lips. A button nose sat in the middle of her face which was swollen and flushed from her crying. The light freckles on her cheeks only added to her young and innocent looks and even now tears were swimming in her flashing eyes. With those she observed him now. The girl looked angry, aggressive almost and blared her teeth at him.

It was a brief moment. Daemon hadn't even properly thought about it and didn't really know where it was coming from but suddenly he heard himself say those words that made Eries raise his eyebrows.

"Leave us."

The knight obeyed, bowed his head and then only Daemon and Arlis were staring at each other.

"Let me go," she spitted and he chuckled quietly.

"Fuck you and the whole pack of you," she then added and shook the shackles that held her in place.

Daemon looked her up and down with relish and pursed his lips.

"I would say the same thing about your pack, but well… They're all dead."

Arlis' expression hardened and she bit her lower lip in order to swallow her tears but she only partly suceeded.

"Fuck you," she repeated but this time it was a lot more quiet which made Daemon smirk.

Then he approached her and the girl stiffened at once. He could see the fear in her eyes and it filled him with a profane desire and satisfaction. He didn't care how fucked up this was, but Daemon wanted this. He wanted to scare her, make her eyes go round as coins when she stared up to him and preferably see her cry. And he thought that he might have good chances because she seemed to be the crying type.

Daemon grabbed her hair and yanked her head back just like Ser Eries had done a few minutes ago.

"You're a pretty girl. It surprises me, quiet frankly. That your father, the stupid cunt was able to sire such a beauty. Perhaps you come more after your mother."

She grinded her teeth and pouted at him while squirming in his grip.

"Let me go. At once. I swear to you I will bite and hit you until you let me go."

Daemon was amused by her reaction and pulled at her hair with more force.

"I want to see that," he whispered and then took hold of her chin with his other hand.

"So pretty…," he purred. "I'm curious to see what else you have to offer. I just hope your little cunt doesn't taste bitter. You're a hightower after all."

Now panic was visible in her eyes and she shook her head quickly and with so much force that he almost would've dropped his hand on her chin.

"You will not touch me, you will now defile me like this. I'd rather have you kill me. I'd rather kill myself."

"Shh, little one. Be careful what you wish for."

His finger brushed over her jaw and he felt her tremble underneath his touch. If Daemon only could really tell if it was from her fear or anger. He didn't even know what he preferred because the thought of bedding a stubborn and defiant girl and the challenge of breaking her aroused him but at the same time he was eager to see the fear in her eyes while he fucked her.

His hand wandered downwards until he felt the soft skin of her neck. It was so milky, looked and felt so pure that a thought crossed his mind…

"Are you a maiden?" Daemon asked and his eyes searched for hers. Her eyes fluttered which he interpreted as a sign of weakness but her words sounded as sharp as knives.

"That's none of your fucking business," she hissed.

"Oh I don't think so, sweetling. You'd be smart to tell me. Only if I know I can prepare you properly. You wouldn't want your tight little maiden cunt to be fucked roughly without giving you time to adjust. Especially not if you're dry as a desert."

Daemon was almost ahundred percent sure that she was a maiden and the thought made his cock swell to twice its size. The way she looked at him with this uncertainty in her eyes. And despite trying to seem indifferent and distanced, he had noticed how attentive she had listened to him during his last words. Also, Daemon simply couldn't believe that a girl like her, who looked so sweet and innocent could already have been defiled by another man.

He made sure that she had her eyes on him while his hand traveled further south. He saw the way her pupils widened and the sound of the rattling of the chains filled the tent.

"Stop it," she spitted. "Stop it at once."

He rolled his eyes and brushed over her collarbone through her dress.

"Quiet. Or I'll put a gag on your mouth."

And yet Daemon actually took his hand off her body. Not because he didn't want to see and touch her breasts, he would do that very thing later, but because he had something else in mind. His cock was almost bursting in his breeches and he simply needed some relief. And when he looked at Arlis' pink and soft lips the only thought in his head was what it would feel like to bury his cock so deep inside of her throat until the only sound that could leave her mouth was her gagging and choking. That would shut her up as well, Daemon thought while he finally let go of her hair.

She let out a relieved sigh and perhaps seemed to think that the rogue prince had changed his mind. She couldn't have been more off.

Daemon watched the suspicion in Arlis' expression when he reached down to where her wrists were chained to the chair. She didn't seem to be that dumb to think that he would just let her go now after all.

Yet he freed her from the chair and wasn't surprised when the girl pushed him away at once while simultaneously trying to get off the chair. It filled him with so much smug to see how she failed because Daemon simply held her back with a hand gripping her shoulder and pressed her to the chair.

"Fuck you, you arsehole," Arlis pressed and pulled and pinched at his arms. "Just let me go, already."

"I'm afraid that's not gonna happen," Daemon sarcastically sighed.

Then without giving a warning he gripped her upper arm and shoved her to the floor. At first the girl winded herself and refused to have her knees touch the floor but he was too strong and simply pushed her down until she didn't have a choice but to stare up to him.

Additionally, Daemon had positioned the girl so that there was the big wooden table right behind her. The edge of the table was on the same level as her head which meant that if she tried to escape from him the table would block her way. He could just press her head against the wood and she wouldn't have a choice but to take it all, whatever it was he would give her.

Daemon had a hand in her hair to hold her head to his liking and he made sure to dig his fingers into her scalp. In response Arlis flinched which made him take yet another step towards her so she was now fully trapped between the table and his body.

"I know you'll do such a good job, pretty girl. You're so eager with everything you're doing, mhm? I just know you'll suck my cock so perfectly. Well, if you won't it doesn't matter either. Then I'll just fuck your mouth and use you like a toy and that's fine with me as well."

Daemon could now see something new in her eyes, a mixture of fear and panic. But still, she wasn't on the point of breaking because she tightened her lips and her eyes spit fire so much so that one could assume the blood of the dragon ran through her veins as well.

"Open your mouth," he said and tried to sound as cool and dominant as possible.

He liked the way she fought him off and how desperately she resisted him but Daemon simultaneously enjoyed to make her feel scared so he felt a fluttering in his stomach as she looked up to him with big eyes.

"N-No," she stuttered and seemingly was startled with his request. He hadn't even freed his cock; why did he want her to open her mouth? Daemon smirked crookedly and put a hand under her chin.

"Do it."

But Arlis denied and pressed her lips tightly together. Gods, she really was a defiant little thing. But he was confident that he would have her broken and messy by the end of the night. He started by delivering a light smack on her left cheek that only made her eyes glisten with more anger. Yet she let out a gasp which told Daemon that the things he did had an impact on her.

"I said open your fucking mouth," he repeated and forcefully gripped her chin.

When she still didn't obey him he groaned and furiously pushed two fingers between her lips while pulling at her jaw and the girl seemed so surprised that Daemon was able to enter her mouth and he immediately shoved his two digits so deep that they hit the back of her throat. Arlis choked and gagged and despairingly fidgeted with her hands in order to find support. But all her hands reached were his hips which she pushed at in an attempt to free herself.

He watched her struggle with pleasure and his eyes glared with amusement. Therefore he kept up the assault for another few seconds and then pulled his fingers back a little so she could breathe. The little girl gasped and inhaled greedily while her pupils danced hectically in her eyes.

"See what happens if you're a bad girl?" Daemon whispered evily.

Arlis was still unable to speak so she just furrowed at him while trying to regain her breath.

"You'll take my cock now. And if I were you I'd be good now, understand me?"

As a reply she shook her head and Daemon sighed disapprovingly.

"Oh, dear. You want me to hurt you, don't you?"

Another motion of her head. Daemon flared his nostrils and then removed his fingers from her mouth which made Arlis pull as far away from him as possible. He intended to take off his pants and breeches now but knew she would try and run away if he let go of her. It turned out to be very cumbersome but eventually he was able to do the task one handedly all while his other hand still gripped her head tightly.

He now had to listen to her outbursts again and Arlis let out little curses and insults and only when he was done with freeing his rock hard manhood did he react to it. The girl in front of him stared at his member anxiously but even that couldn't soften the rogue prince's upset temper. He had enough of her bratty attitude and suddenly slapped her cheek again. It was a little more forceful this time but not so much that she started to cry.

"I will fuck and pound this cunt of yours until you remember your manners, little pet. I don't care how long it will be, I don't fucking care how sore you'll be. You'll take it."

She sniffed and tried her best to appear cold towards his words but he obviously saw the way she squeezed her eyes.

"Open your mouth and if you won't do it willingly I'll fucking make you and you don't want that to happen," Daemon whispered dangerously.

It was a pity, really. Instead of obeying him she futhermore turned her head away from his center. Daemon exhaled loudly and prepared himself for another fight that he was certain he'd win.

He grabbed a fistful of her hair without caring whether he would hurt her and forced her to look at his manhood again. With his other hand he took hold of her chin to pull at it and at the same pushed his cock against her mouth. Arlis let out a whine but the mess of the whole situation actually allowed him to force her mouth open and he shoved his cock inside. The girl in front of him squirmed and threw her head to the side but there wasn't anything she could do. Daemon's hand controlled her head, she didn't know how to get his cock to leave her mouth and so she stared up to him helplessly.

The rogue prince moaned at the new feeling. Her mouth felt warm and wet, just like he wanted it. He had his eyes on the kneeling girl and it almost made him burst right in this second. Her wide eyes, her pretty lips wrapped around his manhood… And everything only became better once he started moving inside of her mouth.

He pulled himself out a little so that only his tip was inside but then thrusted right back in to hit the back of her throat. Arlis angrily cried out but simply had to endure it as Daemon used her mouth without paying attention to her resistance.

"That's right…," he purred. "What a good little mouth you have. I additionally would like to say that you're a good girl but unfortunately that would be a lie."

She coughed while he spoke those words and flashed her eyes at him.

"Do you have something to say? Perhaps apologize for your stubborness and tell me that you'll obey me from now on? You know that I own you now. You're my captive and it's my choice what I plan to do with you. I could make you my personal fuck toy and you wouldn't be able to do anything about it. That depends on what lies between your thighs though. If your slutty cunt is gonna satisfy me, perhaps I'll keep you. You're pretty to look at in any case."

This time Daemon was sure that those were tears welling in her eyes and it only fueled his desire for her. She seemingly tried to blink them away and lowered her gaze so she looked at his legs instead of him but he had glanced at a wetness gathering in her eyes which he laughed about now.

"Not so strong now, are we?"

Then he grabbed her jaw once more while simultaneously delivering a particulary sharp thrust inside her throat. She had no choice but to look at him and watch the smug smirk on his face.

"Let me see those pretty tears… Yeah that's right. Cry for me, come on. S'not gonna stop me."

He ravished her throat, bruised it and didn't care whether he hurt her or not. All he was capable of thinking about was the way her throat wrapped so tightly about his cock, the way her warmth sent shivers down his spine and how she gagged and complained around him.

"Oh fuck," he moaned and narrowed his grip on her head.

She was still winding and shifting and so Daemon secured her position in front of him by coming yet another step foward so there was no way she could escape from between his hips and the table.

He went deep, so incredibly deep that his balls were pressed to her face. It felt so good that Daemon didn't even want to come and instead enjoy this perfect mouth for the rest of his life. But at the same time he was so close that he felt like exploding every second so he slowed down a little and even granted Arlis some room to breathe properly.

Greedily she inhaled and held her hand to her chest. Daemon would've thought that perhaps the girl was a little more frightened now and therefore more submissive but he couldn't have been more off. The assault seemed to have only enhanced her fury as she made yet another effort to fight him off. She pressed on his legs to make him step away, angrily mumbled something he couldn't understand and tried to escape from his grip in her hair. But soon he shoved his manhood back in and continued to pound her mouth while throwing his head back in ecstasy.

"Oh gods be good," he panted. "Look at you… On your knees for me. So fucking pathetic."

It was only seconds later when Daemon felt the tension in his lower stomach tighten and then contradict.

"Oh fucking hells," he growled and released right into her mouth.

His seed shot in her throat which made her choke but he wanted her to swallow it all so he kept his cock buried in her mouth until he was sure she had milked him completely and had been forced to swallow every drop of his seed. Only then did he pull away until his now flaccid member hang in front of her face. She hiccuped a few times, stubbornly refused to look at him and squirmed in his grip.

"I bet you liked that, didn't you?" Daemon smirked. "Getting that slutty mouth of yours fucked. Getting ruined by me."

Arlis raised her gaze at last and looked like she was trying to set him on fire with her glistening eyes.

"Fuck you. I hate you and you will get punished for this."

If she had attempted to threaten him, she had failed. Daemon merely chuckled and then yanked her to her feet by her hair until she stood in front of him. Her face, particulary her cheeks and nose were reddened and traces of tears covered her face. Her already wild hair looked even messier now and this picture of her made him incredibly hungry for her despite just having released.

Daemon pushed the girl towards the table until her backside hit the edge of it. Fear and uncertainty darkened her eyes but it only made him want her more. He slowly reached out to her waist and tightly gripped her through the fabric of her dress. Arlis was quick to try and shove his hands away and additionally kicked him with her feet.

"You will not touch me," she hissed.

"Oh I will. And I will do so much more than that."

And then with a swift motion he grabbed the collar of her dress and tore it apart so it hang loosely over her body and exposed her undergarment. Perhaps it was in that moment that Arlis realized that the rogue prince would take what he wanted and that he planned to claim her maidenhead right here and right now because her facade crumbled, she started to shiver and tears gathered in the corner of her eyes.

"Please. Please, don't," she whined while Daemon started to remove the layers of fabric covering her stiff body.

"Aww, what's that? You've decided to drop your bratty attitude?"

He was genuinely amused and observed her tense jaw.

"Please don't touch me. Please, my prince."

Her pleas filled him with satisfaction. He had suceeded after all and now had a begging and broken girl in front of him. Because as much as he had enjoyed taming that stubborn little thing, he couldn't wait to see her crying.

"You're mine now, little one. And that means that I get to decide what I want to do with you. And at this moment I want to see that pretty body of yours and then fuck your tight little cunt. But keep on begging, it's too adorable."

With these words Daemon removed the rest of the layers from her shaking body until she was bare under his gaze. She had still tried to fight him but at this point she seemed weakened and frightened so that her attempts were beyond ridiculous.

Once he ran his eyes over her body he felt his cock already harden again a little. She had small breasts with pink perky nipples that looked so delicious, he couldn't wait to bite and nibble at them, a small waist and frizzy brown hair between her legs that covered what hid underneath. It was almost too much for him. He didn't know what to do with all of this, didn't know where to start so he leaned forwards to force her into a kiss.

His lips sucked on her cold ones and her taste made his heart beat faster. Meanwhile his hands forcefully grabbed her breasts and squeezed them in his hands which made her whince. Suddenly Daemon felt a sharp pain in his lip and he pulled away from her at once. When he licked over them he tasted blood and stared at Arlis with narrow eyes.

"You little slut," he grunted and wrapped a hand around her neck.

"Is this what you want?" he asked evily without letting her out of his sight for one second. "You could have a much better time, sweetling, if you simply laid still and took what I give you. But seems you want to take it the difficult way."

His hand stayed around her throat while his mouth kissed down to her collarbone. Her light skin looked so pure and delicate to him that he couldn't resist and bit and marked her. Now and then Arlis flinched and hissed out at the pain but over all she seemed a little more tame now after he had scared her by choking her. Once he had enough Daemon pulled away and proudly watched his work.

Her cleavage and neck was covered with light bruises and bite marks where he had sucked and nibbled at. She looked so… desirable. He wanted nothing more than to show his little fuck toy off to the world and letting everyone see how he had claimed her.

After observing her for another few moments Daemon leaned down again and this time took care of her breasts. Her nipples were already hardened though he was not certain if she was aroused or simply scared. While still taking hold of her neck he started to kiss and suck on her nipples while always concentrating on one for a few seconds and then switching to the other. After a while Arlis quietly murmured and squirmed in discomfort and taking a look at her nipples he noticed how red and sore they had gotten. He didn't stop though. She looked too cute shifting like this and the occasional moans were music to his ears so he continued to let his tongue circle around the buds and drew them into her mouth until he simply couldn't wait to get to her cunt anymore.

Therefore Daemon grabbed her hips and lifted the girl onto the table without leaving her a choice and then was quick to spread her legs and step between them before she was able to close them. He watched the tears stream down her face as she seemingly feared his imminent actions so much but the prince mockingly stroke her cheek.

"You look very pretty when you cry, you know that?"

He then smiled. "You don't want that cunt to get fucked?"

Arlis swiftly shook her head and tried to convince him with the most pleading look of her eyes.

"No. Please, my prince."

"What a shame then. But don't you worry, little one, I'll warm you up because I feel merciful today."

With these words Daemon suddenly dropped to the ground and knelt between her legs while widening them with the strong grip of his hands. He sighed with pleasure once he saw what laid between her thighs and his thumb soothingly caressed her soft skin.

"Well… Will you look at that? Perfect fucking cunt."

He kissed the inside of her thighs right next to her most intimate parts.

"From now on you merely exist to serve me. You're my plaything, my toy to use whenever I feel the desire to."

His words were in such contrast to his soft kisses that it made Arlis' head spin.

"You won't speak unless I tell you so. You won't move unless I tell you so. And if I have to fuck your stubborness out of you I'll gladly do so until all you're capable of saying is yes and thank you."

And then without any kind of warning he closed the distance between his mouth and her cunt and pressed his lips on her bundle of nerves. Daemon could tell that this was entirely knew to her in the way she gasped for air and when he took a look up he saw that her eyes had sprang open like she was a woman haunted.

At this moment Arlis was dry as dust but the prince was quite convinced of his skills and started to let his tongue tease her pearl. Daemon's arms were wrapped around her thighs in order to keep her still and after a while he could feel her moving around and this time he wasn't sure if perhaps she was actually turned on or rather wanted to escape his grip. Because when he licked at her entrance he could taste something sweet and wet on his tongue and now nothing could stop him.

He lapped up her arousal and then spreaed it all over her folds and especially her pearl. He used the slickness to circle and flick the little nub, press into it and traced it. When he suddenly heard a quiet moan he stopped his motion. Something about it sounded a little different to the sounds that had left her mouth earlier and Daemon was curious now. And first and foremost he wanted to hear it again. He wanted to turn her into a begging mess, make her plead him and ask him to keep going. He wanted her to embarrass herself and humiliate her until she would cry. So he glanced at her with a cruel smirk and just very slightly brushed over her pearl which made her inhale sharply.

"So you do like this…," he whispered and Arlis' eyes sprang open at his words.

"It's pathetic, really. Here you are refusing to give in and as soon as I rub at your little pearl you can't bring out a coherent sentence. Desperate little thing."

She sniffed a few times and then gulped loudly. "Please stop…"

Daemon laughed at this and threw his head back.

"Oh I don't think you want me to stop. I think you want nothing more than to get this little cunt of yours pounded and filled with my seed."

Her 'No' was swallowed by the moan she let out once his tongue came back to teasing her bundle of nerves. He needed her to come, wanted to taste more of her sweet juices and wanted to see her fall apart. That was why Daemon fastened the motion and made sure to put more pressure on her pearl while his hand grabbed her breasts to play with her nipples. He heard her whine and cry and moan and whimper and each sound only hardened his cock along with her divine taste.

And then, when he felt her muscles tense underneath him he knew that she was gonna come so he stopped. Arlis who was panting heavily and unsteadily lifted her head to see what was happening and Daemon grinned smugly. He had just ruined her orgasm and she didn't seem fond about it.

"Do you want me to go on?" he asked innocently.

Arlis clearly fought with herself and quietly hummed while pushing her hips towards him. He could see the pleasure in her eyes and the way she bit her buttom lip and Daemon knew he had her right where he wanted her.

"Go on. I want to hear your pretty voice."

He lightly ran his thumb over her pearl and watched with amusement how her face tensed.

"P-Please…," she mumbled but it still wasn't enough for Daemon.

"I can't hear you."

A desperate cry left her mouth and she threw her head to the side. His thumb pressed into her nub with more force and Arlis moved her hips in order to create some friction.

"Please. Please continue."

She sounded so pathetic and needy that Daemon couldn't help but reach up to her face and smugly run his thumb over her lips before finally going back to work. All that he had wanted was to hear her beg for him and now he was eager to watch her fall apart under his touch.

Daemon buried his face in her cunt, lapped up everything there was while flicking her pearl and then she let out a muffled high-pitched noise and collapsed on the table. His hands were tight around her hips so she couldn't flee from his mouth but she seemed too powerless to fight anyhow. He devoured her sweetness, rolled his eyes back at what most definitely was the best cunt he had ever had and then looked up to the girl.

She had her eyes closed and yet tears were streaming down her face. She almost looked pitiful lying there like this so Daemon soothingly stroke her thigh.

"Oh, sweet girl," he cooed and then got up from the floor. He stood between her legs and gently grabbed her waist.

"You're gonna be a good girl now and take my cock, right? If not I'll make you take it. Which is gonna be more painful for you but I don't really care which path you're gonna choose."

Her eyes fluttered a few times at his words and she put her arms in front of her breasts in order to hide them which Daemon commented with a scoff. Roughly he took hold of her wrists and pinned them to the side of her body.

"You're not gonna be able to hide from me, little doll."

His eyes wandered from her head down to her feet once more and then he fisted his hard cock. Arlis seemed to really understand the gravity of the situation and moved back from him with glossy eyes.

"Please. Please, my prince, please don't do it."

Her reaction was exactly what he had wished for. Having her at his mercy, watching her beg him and seeing her at her lowest. Breaking her.

He ran his tip through her folds, stopped at her pearl for a brief moment and then spread her arousal all over her cunt. She whimpered and pressed her eyes together as if she was able to avoid the imminent action that way and then Daemon's cock was at her entrance. He circled it a few times, enjoyed the way she shivered in his arms and twitched every time she thought he would enter her now and then finally sank into her.

She shrieked out and her face was drawn with pain while the rogue prince let out a deep and long sigh. She was so incredibly tight that he feared she might tear off his cock and the warmth and wetness that welcomed him was almost too much.

"Oh fucking… Oh shit," he moaned and tightly grabbed her shoulders not only to keep her up on the table but also to have some leverage while he stretched her wider for him.

Tears relentlessly spilled from her eyes and she looked even more pale now. Her hands had grabbed the edge of the table beneath her and she would've fallen on her back if Daemon didn't hold her up.

"Oh yes… That's a tight fucking cunt… Gods, I knew you'd be good for one thing."

He stayed buried in her for a few moments in order to regain his breath and then pulled back only to start thrusting into her at a steady pace. Arlis gasped out at every sharp jolt but he could tell that it was caused by her pain. Daemon truthfully would have been kinder to her and given her more time to adjust but he was tired of her stubborn attitude and wanted to punish her for it. He had told her that it was her choice to either obey or continue to fight and she had chosen the latter. Now she had to live with the consequences.

At some point Daemon let go of her shoulders and pushed her so she was lying on her back. His hands dug in her waist and he forcefully held her down while filling her sore cunt to the brim. It wouldn't have been necessary of course. Arlis was weak, done with everything and took what he gave her without fighting. Her eyelids were closed and her body only moved when she was being shoved by a particulary deep thrust. And yet this image aroused Daemon so much that he wanted her to come again. And if the rogue prince wanted something he would get it.

So his finger reached out to her center where his cock pounded her cunt and he put it on her pearl to stimulate it in intense circles. She responded with a quiet whimper from her slightly parted lips and Daemon knew he was doing well. Soon he slowed down a little so he wouldn't burst before Arlis had come again but then finally he felt her walls clench around her and no matter if she liked it or not, he forced her to come again. He allowed himself to cross the edge as well and grunted as his seed filled her hole.

Daemon didn't pull away at once as he wanted to make sure that his semen would stay inside her. He pushed into her one more time and only then slipped out of her which she reacted to with a whimper.

Arlis wanted nothing more than to be left alone at last and preferably never see him again but he didn't grant her the favor. He put on some clothes on his body and then approached the motionless girl again. Daemon wrapped a hand around her throat so he was certain he had her attention and brushed with his mouth over her ear.

"I think I will keep you, darling. You have a nice little hole and a pretty body and I think it would be a waste to have you executed. You're mine now anyway… You're gonna be my little fuck toy to calm me after a long day. My plaything to always take with me. My little whore…. I do like that idea."

Daemon didn't expect an answer from her and just dropped her back to the table.

He didn't give her another glance and simply left the tent and only then did Arlis allow herself to cry again.

[alicedash2]

"My princess"

Whitebeard x Reader (f!reader, platonic)

without review

Shanks x Reader

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warning: persecution, mention of death, death, prejudice

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you were just his princess....

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Ah, those big, bright little eyes, full of life, that shy, forced smile, rosy, warm cheeks, you looked like a warm, cuddly little ball, even if you were a teenager, in the hand of your adoptive father, who adopted you and never let you touch a weapon, so fragile that you were, your delicate, small hands never knew what it was like to touch a weapon or anything heavy, you didn't know how to fight, let alone curse or offend, the true princess you were born to be.

 He felt devastated when you left, the persecution you suffered was too much, he thought he had saved you at the age of 12, from those ignorant people who thought you were a bad omen because of the culture you were born into and your ancestors, you were not to blame, your island, called "Flos Historiarum", was in a country at war, you had already lost your family, been taken away, they took your name and burned you with numbers, they tried to make you forget your name, but you always refused, you never submitted to that torture of prejudices, your whole island was devastated, and that filled you with hatred.

"I know how you feel, little one"

"no, you don't! I...hate them!"

"yes, I understand... and even so, I looked for things that could comfort me again..."

That's what Whitebeard said, bringing you close to his face, while you were sitting on the man's hand, malnourished, in pain and agony, he promised you that he would give you a new family, and so he did.

Whitebeard didn't usually have women in his gang, but he made a special exception at first, he just wanted to raise you and then let you live a peaceful life on an island he took as his territory, but as he saw you grow into a wonderful woman, almost 17 years old, he didn't have enough courage, he felt, for the first time, the love of a father for his daughter, he felt as if you were his exceptional daughter, as if you had come out of a dream that he hadn't even realized he had, being the father of a girl, that made him think that he would have liked to have had you earlier, learning to walk, talk, study, these silly but special things.

Whitebeard had time to see you grow, improve, develop your opinions, passions, fears and sorrows, from your island, the only thing you saved with you was your diaries, which were soon recovered before Whitebeard welcomed you into that place where there was barely any food, he knew, but he never touched on the subject, he knew, that inside, there was torture that you suffered.

During your adventures as Whitebeard, he always asked you to stay on the ship, or accompanied by a crew member, but not alone, and once, you disobeyed, left the ship, and went to explore the island in a more secluded place, but, it wasn't long before you found two heads, one red and one blue, discussing something, afraid, you left in silence when you ended up slipping and falling downs, making the boys look at you, curious...

"...?"

"ah!"

You tried to run away, but the fear was greater, the boys looked at you, still curious, they were your age at the time, 14 years old

"she's a civilian..."

"Are there any civilians here?"

"I don't know, maybe there's a village nearby"

"hey, are you a civilian?"

"igh?!"

You turned away, trembling, and denied it with your head

"oh... where are you from?"

"I-I... I..."

You tried to talk, you didn't want to admit that you were Whitebeard's daughter, you regretted going alone, until you heard a serious voice

"don't scare the girl! Stay away from her!"

A man appears, blond, called Rayleigh, by the boys, the man gently helped you up, he didn't comment on your origin, the boys became more curious, Rayleigh, took you back to Whitebeard, who when he went to check on you, hadn't found you, you were lectured and turned red with shame, blaming yourself for a moment before the man hugged you gently and asked you not to do it again, the red-haired boy, who looked at you intently, like a newly discovered species, decided to become your friend, he was curious about you, Whitebeard didn't say anything, but his intense gaze already said a lot.

 When you said goodbye on your last day, you commented on your diary, and let Shanks have a quick look, but he wasn't that interested, he thought that diaries were "girls thing", until you told him about your origin, which he doubted, so you showed him your mark from the numbers they had made on you, it was still scarred, very evident and about treatment, from then on, Shanks realized that he should also protect you, he felt obliged, even if you were from a rival crew, you carried a lot of history, of struggle, strength and pain, the young man gave you back your diary, knowing the things that would be there, and then, you got up, and Shanks accompanied you to your ship, where they said goodbye, making promises to meet again.

A few years passed, at 17, you met Shanks again, he was already independent and had his own ship, he invited you to be part of his crew, in which you refused in a gentle way, the man in love didn't insist, he told you a few things since they left and when Roger died, many things happened, but that he was happy to know that you were so far, and confessed, in which you also felt the same, again, they left, making new promises full of love.

 A few weeks pass, and you decide to live as a civilian again, making Whitebeard against it by asking:

"Why do you want to leave when you have everything here?"

"Daddy, I wasn't born to be a pirate, I was born to be a 'princess' like you said! I'm your princess, and a princess has a peaceful life, don't you think?"

Whitebeard didn't complain, he took you to a territory, still feeling insecure, something told him to take her and put her on the ship again, but he ignored it and decided to trust his daughter, who kissed him on the cheek before saying goodbye, everyone cried, except for him, but he knew where to find her.

A few days passed, and they found the diary in the old room, and decided to keep it until the next visit to return it to you, they knew how much you loved your diary, that it carried your struggle, and so it was, until the fateful day, when they arrived, they noticed something strange, there were fires all around, the island was green and flowery, with villages and a small town in the center. Whitebeard began to blame himself in advance, telling himself that he should have listened to his paternal instincts about stopping you from leaving the crew. It didn't take long for them to find you, lying lifeless in an alley, they recognized you by the numbers that were still visible on your arm, and quickly, everyone had understood, prejudice had found you again, but this time, it had caught you, and they had also set fire to the island, where not even the animals would escape, Whitebeard was flooded with sadness, he had lost his precious princess, who had never hurt anyone, but had been brutally hurt, and he, who had always promised to protect her, wasn't there.

After the unfortunate discovery, a few days later, they buried her delicate body on another nearby island, very small, left flowers and letters, and everyone said goodbye, Shanks was silent, not sure what to say, both crews left for their destination, Shanks with a clip, a pair of earrings and letters that would be sent to him, and Whitebeard with the diary and other things, Whitebeard felt so empty that he couldn't accept it, he wanted to make a promise that if she returned, he would give her something in return, but he didn't know what to give in return if his daughter returned, his promise was half-fulfilled, and Shanks, who wanted his love back, decided to make a promise, but, like Whitebeard, he didn't succeed.

18 years passed, Luffy was already on the seas, conquering crew members, Whitebeard, when he received a new newspaper in the morning, with new sheets of pirates with their rewards below, he decided to look, and when he looked at his new photo, on that sheet, smiling shyly, with rosy cheeks and bright eyes, he had a flash of all his memory, he was in a trance, He wanted to scream, to jump up and tell you that you were alive, but he could only cry slowly. Suddenly, he heard shouts of joy, seeing his crew celebrating his inexplicable return. Whitebeard held tightly to his diary, from his past life, the situation was the same with Shanks, his teenage love was back, alive, and with Luffy, his friend.

Whitebeard and Shanks began a race as to who would find you first and take you for themselves again.

Part 2(?)

[the-marshals-wife]

Ain't No Grave (Edward Rutledge x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ��

MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW FOR G20, YOU'VE BEEN WARNED

A/N: Vengeful blond Aussie Antony Starr re-wired my brain and I needed more of him. Specifically, I needed soft!Rutledge, so here is an indulgent fic born from the idea "Yes he's evil, but what if I was his favorite?" I know this man would do anything for the woman he loves, even if that means cheating death itself. Also they did not do his backstory / trauma as a veteran justice at all in the movie, so I'm here to fix that too.

Description: Edward Rutledge x Fem!Reader, established relationship. Hurt + comfort, fluff, spice, extreme angst: eat up, y'all | Rating: MATURE, just to be safe. Warnings: kissing/making out, sensuality, pet names (endearing), blood and injuries described in-depth, partial nudity, mild language, alcohol, PTSD + trauma alluded to, suggestive themes, Reader is distraught for bit, Eddie gets patched up and all the loving he needs. | Word count: 4.2 k | Tagging: @hangmanscoming @walkingnearfoxes

Imagine Rutledge coming home to you after you believed him to be dead, and helping mend more than just his wounds

How could it have gone so wrong? What was supposed to the last stop on the way to freedom had become a nightmare that you couldn't wake up from. The remote safehouse where you had waited for Edward had transformed into a prison of shattered dreams. By the third day, the tears had stopped. A cold emptiness had taken their place, creeping into your bones and settling into your every fiber. You felt the ache of his absence with every breath.

It was the sixth day now. Time alluded you, but you were vaguely aware it was sometime in the evening because the shadows were growing long. You sit on the floor of the hallway with your knees pulled to your chest, utterly numb. This had become your preferred spot. The bed was hollow, and the sofa was haunted. Whenever your mind screamed at you that you should get up and try to leave, such thoughts were inevitably met with despair.

Of course, there was no rational reason to stay. You understood all the facts. No one was coming to save you. The food was almost gone, and there'd hardly been much to start with. You were going to die here alone if you didn't leave.

Edward was not coming back.

No, there was nothing rational about what you felt. You just couldn't let go. This is where you were supposed to wait for him. This is where he was going to come back to you. This is the last place that you were together.

Holding your head in your hands, another wave of grief washes over you. From the day you met Edward, you knew it was never going to be easy. You also knew there was no one else for you but him. His demons danced perfectly with yours, and you wrestled them better together. Even still, he had his own war to wage, and he had to fight it his way. As long as you could be at his side when the battles were over, you made peace with looking the other way.

Then, he found a way to win, once and for all. That's what he believed, at least.

You both agreed that the less you knew about the G20 Plan, the better. But being ignorant about the finer details didn't prevent you from worrying; if anything, it only made it worse. The knowledge that it would be the last time he'd leave you for a mission had been the only thing keeping you sane. That, and thinking about the future that awaited you when he returned.

You squeeze your eyes shut against the memories, but you were powerless to halt their coming. That last night before the summit seemed so long ago now. If only you'd known then...if only you could've stopped him...

★

The warm night air spills through the open balcony doors and clings to your skin. The smell of damp earth from nearby rain fills your nose, and the steady chirping of crickets evokes a familiar comfort. You recline on the sofa with your head propped up on your hand along the back, waiting for Edward to return with his 'surprise.' In the kitchen behind you, you hear him shuffling around and rifling through the cabinets.

"You're not peeking, are you?" he calls out.

"I'd never dream of it," you holler back, smiling despite yourself.

"I just got word from Titos. The boys are all set for tomorrow. Everything's falling right into place," he informs, no small amount of satisfaction in his voice as he draws nearer, "Now that the cryptowallet is in our possession, all that's left is to take the bastards down."

"No turning back now," you say to yourself, holding back a sigh.

You look up to see him returned with a bottle of champagne and two glasses, a grin spread across his face.

"Tada," he announces, placing them on the coffee table in front of you. "I know, not much. But we can't make a bloody toast with water, now can we?"

"Wow. What exactly are we toasting?" you inquire, sitting forward.

His expression twists with confusion, but he doesn't lose his smile as he proceeds to pop the cork and begin pouring. "Our victory, of course. What else, darling?"

"Don't you think that's bad luck? You haven't won yet, Eddie," you remind, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in your gut.

"But we will," he insists, offering you your drink, "And since when have you been the superstitious type?"

"Since you decided to break into the most heavily armed place on the continent," you answer. You take the libation and stand up to join him.

"My poor love. Ever fretting over my sorry hide," he teases with pitiful affection, "Needlessly, might I add."

"Someone has to, Rutledge," you retort, glaring at him knowingly, "I've grown rather fond of that 'sorry hide', so you call it. Or have you forgotten?"

He bites his lip in amusement, noticeably trying to maintain his composure after your comment.

"Perhaps you need reminding," you suggest, bating your eyes.

You can't help but smirk, enjoying how easily you could make him flustered.

Re-establishing eye contact, he leans in closer and drops his voice to a whisper. "I think these ought to be empty before I can permit that kind of talk, girl."

"Agreed," you concede, pleased with yourself.

He raises his glass, and you do the same.

"To a new world," he declares.

"To a new world."

The clinking of crystal rings through the air. You swallow a generous sip and try to wash the words from your mouth. Edward downs half of his own portion before turning away and stepping out onto the balcony.

"By this time tomorrow, everything is going to be different," he exhales, peering out into the pitch black night.

You reclaim your seat and train your wistful gaze on him. You knew what he was doing. The nearest civilization was miles away, but that did not deter him from scanning the perimeter. You'd grown used to his vigilance; come to depend on it. Yet even in the middle of a moment of celebration, he could not fully let his guard down. You consider calling him back inside, but think the better of it. The moment would pass, as it typically did.

Instead, you reflect on the half-hearted toast you'd just made. Your playful exchange had distracted you from your troubled thoughts momentarily. But as sure as the coming dawn, they reappeared. You'd tried to put on a smile for him, but in truth, you were feeling far from jubilant. In the weeks since Edward first spoke to you of the G20 plan, it'd become a chore to keep your mind from wandering into the future, and all the dread that it held for you. There was no small part of you that was truly worried for his safety, a concern you attempted to convey to him time and again to no avail. It wasn't even the prospect of living in hiding that you found troublesome, as would be necessary after every nation on the planet saw his face tomorrow. You were already accustomed to one form of "off-the-grid" living or another following Edward around the globe for the past few years, so the concept certainly didn't bother you anymore. Your identity from before was long gone, and as long as you were together, the person you'd have to become next made little difference to you.

The reason for your dismay was much worse than that. You hated yourself for even thinking it, but deep down, you could sense that you'd begun to doubt him. You feared what would happen if his plan failed, and perhaps even more, you were terrified of what would happen if it didn't.

At last, Edward turns toward you, grinning once more. "The world is going to be our oyster, sweetheart. You've got nothing to worry about anymore."

You distractedly swirl around the remaining golden liquid in your glass. "Oh Eddie, you make it sound so easy."

"That's because it will be," he assures, pointing emphatically, "For the first time in my life, I have clarity of purpose. I know what I have to do. People have to be awakened to what's happening before their very eyes. They must be made to understand the truth so we can bring about real change. No one will stand in my way this time. And when the work is done, when we finally put an end to all the wars and deceit and corruption, I'm going to have everything I want. What we're owed."

"Oh yeah?" you ask, unconvinced by his impassioned oaths.

"Is that doubt, I'm hearing? Surely not," he says, sounding genuinely surprised. He walks over and sits beside you on the couch, awaiting an explanation. "Tell me I've not lost your faith."

You stare down at your hands as you speak, unable to look at him.

"You haven't. I know you'll accomplish what you need to. You always prevail. It's just..." you hesitate, unsure if you should reveal your insecurity.

"What is it? Hm?" he asks, comfortingly resting his hand on your leg.

"You'll be the most powerful man on the planet. You could go anywhere, do anything, with anyone. And I'm just wondering where I fit into all of it."

He's silent only a moment before he replies with renewed resolve.

"Now you just listen hear, darling. I said I was going to give you the world, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."

Shaking your head, you set your glass on the table. "I don't need the world, Eddie. All I want is you."

He smirks, undaunted.

"You already have me," he says, pulling you into his lap, "You know that, don't ya?"

You nod distantly in response, proceeding to softly trace the tattoo on his arm with your finger as he continues.

"You've been beside me in the dark, and I want you right there with me in the light. It's gonna be you and me, just like always. The money won't change that."

"How will it not?"

"Because I won't let it," he vows, "Besides, I couldn't replace you if I tried for a million years. You are my one and only." He snakes his arm around your waist and meets your eyes before repeating the words, "My one and only."

"And you are mine," you reply, leaning in closer until your forehead rests on his. Just like that, he had silenced your doubts, and put in their place a hope that you could hold onto. "You sure have a way with words, Corporal."

"I know, I know," he chuckles, "How about just two more?"

Instantly, you detect a shift in his tone that makes your heart skip. You sit back and stare at him expectantly.

He beholds you with quiet confidence. "Marry me."

"Eddie, be serious," you begin to laugh.

"I am being serious," he says, his gaze softening, "I love you. With all my bleeding heart, I love you, Y/N."

Your heart swells at his confession, tears flooding your vision. "I love you, too."

"This is the final mission. I'm done. I know I've put you through it, and somehow, through thick and thin...you haven't given up on me."

"Not yet," you smile.

He follows suit, continuing his impromptu speech.

"I want to take care of you. Proper like, from now on. Let me prove that your faith in me has not been for nothing," he says, taking your hand in his, "When I get back from this, will you marry me?"

"Yes," you answer, beaming, "I will."

"Atta girl," he purrs through his smile, "Now what was this you were sayin' earlier? Something about a reminder..."

Before you can blink, he eagerly pulls you against him and closes the meager space between you, capturing your mouth with his own. You claw at his chest and kiss him back fiercely, tasting the champagne on his tongue when he parts your lips. You melt into his wandering touch as he then peppers kisses along your jaw and down your neck. The gentle scratch of his beard on the sensitive skin makes your pulse quicken as you close your eyes.

"Promise that you'll come back to me," you say breathlessly.

He pauses his fevered exploration to cup your face in his calloused hands.

"Nothing will stop me from coming back to you. I promise."

★

The memory leaves you reeling, Edward's voice still echoing your head. You could see it all so clearly, as if you were still there in the ecstasy of his embrace. But when you open your eyes again, you're met with the cruel reality. He was gone, and he'd taken everything with him.

The sound of the locks releasing on the main door of the safehouse pull your from your desolate stupor.

You scramble to your feet as quickly as you can, but consecutive days of sporadic food and water intake immediately catch up to you as you struggle to find sure footing.

In mere seconds, a thousand thoughts flashed through your panicked mind. This was it. They'd come for you. Someone somewhere had figured out your connection to Edward, and they were about to lock you away for the rest of your life. It didn't matter that your only true crime was loving him. They would say you were a terrorist too. Guilty by association. You'd never see the sun again.

What difference did it make? It held no warmth for you anymore.

Accepting your fate, you step out into the open. You expect to see a stealth squad of some kind, hoping to catch you off guard and take you in for questioning.

Instead, a lone figure staggers forward from the shadows. You stand frozen as they limp closer, and the waning sunlight spills across their battered visage.

The second those familiar blue eyes meet yours, the air in your lungs disappears.

His name falls from your lips in a whimper. "Eddie?"

"Hello, darling." He flashes a weary smile, holding his arm across his torso.

"Is it really you?" you whisper, afraid that you would make him fade away if you even dared to move.

"It's me, love," he answers weakly, wincing just to speak, "What's left of me, anyway."

"Eddie, oh my god," you cry, your fragile composure shattering.

You run to him and throw your arms around his neck, clinging to him for dear life. After recovering his balance, he holds you tightly, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"You were dead. You were dead," you repeat through sobs.

"Shhh, it's okay. I'm here, sweetheart. I'm here," he consoles, stroking your back, "Everything's alright now. I'm here."

Now that you were sure he was not a ghost, you feel secure enough to release your grip, if only just a little. His arms stay firmly encircled around your body as he gazes upon you with glistening eyes.

"It was all over the news. They said you fell, that-that survival was impossible," you stammer in disbelief, "I thought you were gone."

"For a moment there, so did I," he replies, reaching to caress your cheek. "But I had a promise to keep."

With that, you pull him into a desperate kiss. He returns it fervently, his fingers lacing into your hair. You savor every sensation you thought you'd never feel again as your hand slides up underneath his shirt. He lets out a pained groan against your lips. You're keenly aware of his injuries once again and carefully surrender your hold on him.

"Easy, darling. I'm gonna need a little R and R before I can have too much fun," he teases, touching his forehead against yours.

"Sorry. Habit," you wince, "Are you okay?"

"I'll live," he chuckles, "I missed you too."

It's then you realize that your hand doesn't feel quite right, and you look down to see your fingers smeared in crimson.

"You're bleeding!"

He growls in frustration, "The damned stitches must have ripped, climbing up this bloody mountain."

"Put your arm around me, let's get you to the couch," you instruct, moving to hold him upright.

"Too bad we finished that whole bottle, ay?" he grunts, complying through the pain.

Adrenaline helps you overcome your own fatigue enough to bear his unsteady weight over your shoulders and hobble into the next room.

"You're not dying on me now, Rutledge. You owe me."

"What are you on about, woman?" he grounds out, followed by a string of curses as you help lower him onto the cushions.

"You owe me a husband. You can't die until after you've married me," you pant, your head starting to pound from the exertion.

His pained expression turns baffled. "You still want to?"

Between the immense stress and his audacity to ask such a thing, your temper starts to flare. "I know you didn't just ask me that."

Switching on the lights, you rush to the kitchen to run some warm water and retrieve the medical kit, trying to work out a strategy. You quickly return with the necessary items, noticing the sudden shift in his mood even in your frenzied state.

"Why would you want to be tied to a miserable ratbag like me? You don't deserve that," Edward mumbles, looking at his boots.

The weight of his failure had apparently started to crash down on him, but it's more than you can bear at present.

You clench your trembling fist and stand over him. It takes all of your remaining strength not to yell.

"For your sake, I'm going to blame what I'm hearing on the head trauma you clearly sustained. Because I know if it weren't for that, there is no way in hell you'd be saying those things to me after everything that's happened," you warn, finding your courage. "Now shut up, Corporal, and help me get all of this off."

As much as you wanted to slap him and scream about the grief he put you through, your focus was on keeping him breathing. Gritting your teeth, you help him remove his soiled clothing until he was stripped down to the waist. He's left in visible agony afterward, but makes no complaints, lying as still as he can manage. You reflexively cover your mouth with your hand as you realize the full extent of the damage. His self-sewn stitches on his abdomen were indeed torn open at the bottom of the evident puncture wound, and he had what appeared to be a stab wound towards the back of his left shoulder that had since stopped bleeding. On top of that, he was completely covered in bruises, all shades of purple and black that made your stomach churn. By the looks of his right side especially, he probably had broken ribs, but there was nothing to be done about it. Staunching the bleeding was your priority, but despite your initial scare, it didn't seem as bad as you'd first thought.

You both remain silent as you kneel before him and begin cleaning the surrounding area with a wet cloth the best that you can. Apart from the rise and fall of his ragged breathing, he remains unmoving. You glance up to see a thousand-yard stare plastered on his face. Better that than the nonsense from before, you think. You wiped away as much dried blood as you could before deciding it would have to be good enough. Before long, you have the antiseptic at the ready.

"This will hurt," you say calmly.

He closes his eyes and sets his jaw. Steeling yourself as well, you pour it over the wound liberally. He flinches, but only just so. As difficult as it was to imagine, you remind yourself that he'd been through worse than this.

While you carefully dab the area with gauze, your eyes wander to the scars you knew by heart. Like you'd done many times before, you attempt to picture where he was when those wounds were fresh, and who had been there to care for him then. He almost never spoke of his past, and whenever he did, it was only of the people he'd lost. Never of his own pain.

Having sorted through the supplies and found the suture kit, Edward raises his hand in protest.

"Leave it. It'll mend. Just the bandage."

"Are you sure?"

He only nods. You don't push it any further, too drained to argue. He obviously had far more experience with first-aid than you, and you felt better knowing you'd at least treated it against infection.

"I said I would give you the world. I failed..." he says solemnly.

"Edward, stop," you implore. You're blinking back tears once again, trying desperately to concentrate on your task. "Please. I don't want to hear about that anymore. I can't take it."

You secure the edges of the crisp white bandage in place, but your plea falls on deaf ears.

"I failed you."

You'd finally had enough, all of your emotions spilling over beyond the edge of your control.

"You really are the most thick-headed man I've ever known. Don't you understand? I never cared about any of it! All I have ever wanted is you. Not the money, not the politics, not the revenge. Just you!"

Your strained outburst echoes through the room.

"And I know that doesn't make sense to you, because you can't understand how someone could love you as you are. Accept both the good and the bad. But I do, Eddie. I always have. You're just gonna have to find a way to live with that."

"I'm broken, Y/N."

You open your mouth to dispute him, but the tear running down his scarred cheek steals your words away. He looks upon you with a tormented gaze that cuts through you like a knife. The devilish twinkle that you loved so much had vanished from his eyes. In some ways, he seemed like a completely different man than the one who sat in that very same spot only nights before and proposed to you. Yet in others, he was more that man than he'd ever been, and all you wished for now was to take the pain away from him.

You crawl into the seat alongside him and slowly turn his head towards you. "Then show me how to fix you, one and only."

Your offer destroys what remains of his fortitude as he breaks down into sobs, succumbing to his grief. You cradle his head to your chest and press kisses into his hair while he weeps. His numerous injuries don't prevent his unburdening, the pain deep inside clearly far greater than whatever he felt in his body.

"They're gone. They're all gone, because of me," he cries, "I failed them. I always fail them."

Suddenly, you're seized with realization. He didn't just mean the men killed at the disastrous summit. His meant his brothers in arms that he lost in the war. His best mates. At last, you understood. He felt responsible for their deaths, and the guilt was killing him. It had been poisoning him long before you'd ever met.

"It's not your fault, baby," you console, wondering if he'd ever heard those words before, "It was never your fault."

"Why did I survive? It should have been them. They should have lived. Not me...not me."

His anguished laments send shivers down your spine as your heart breaks for him. How quickly had it all reversed. Now he was the one that clung to you for dear life.

"Oh my love," you murmur, tears falling from your eyes onto his blond locks, "I'm so sorry."

He'd been through more suffering and loss than he had a right to, and you longed to carry that burden with him. But even in these throes of sorrow, you couldn't ignore the spark of hope you were now feeling inside. A sense of peace had begun to settle where the dread and despair had so recently been. For the first time ever, Edward had truly let you inside his darkness. He trusted you; not just to tend to his wounds, but to mend his heart. Indeed, it was the smallest of sparks, but it was a hope that you would die to keep burning for him.

You hold him in your arms for as long as he needs, and it feels like a lifetime before he finally draws back and looks to you with bloodshot eyes.

"Don't give up on me," he begs, his voice raw, "Please, I can't lose you too."

"Never," you pledge, taking his shaking hand and holding it to your heart. "Thick and thin, remember?"

He smiles a bit, some of the light returning to his eyes. The storm inside him was beginning to subside.

You continue on, "All of those men followed you because they believed in you. Just like I believe in you. And I'm not going anywhere."

He stares at you in awe. "What did I ever do you deserve you?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Rutledge," you answer, overwhelmed with yearning.

"I swear to you, I will earn this second chance," he says sincerely, cupping your cheek, "If you'll still have me."

You smile.

"Always."

[grapejuicestyless]

Stupid F-ing Tattoo

JJ Maybank x Fem!reader

Summery: Y/n and JJ both had a few things in common. One, love didn’t exist. And two, they both wanted her dead.

She wasn’t dead, but sometimes, he wished she was.

It was honestly fucked up, there was no silver lining. She hadn’t wronged him, or cheated, or lied. She was as guilty as a fish, and he was the shark. But he still wished she was dead.

Sometimes, JJ wondered if she wished the same thing. If some nights, if she ever were to by chance hear his laughter in a passing moment, maybe with his head hung out the back window of the Twinkie like she used to do, or in a lazy jog away from the cops, he wondered if she wished he would also, drop off the face of the earth to give her some peace.

Then he would remember that even though it didn’t feel like it, he had won. Because she had no peace, and he was certain she never would. While he was up all night wishing her to be gone, she was up all night praying for the same thing.

She often told him that the only things keeping her going were him and her dog, but mostly her dog. An old white dog, a stray she’d taken in when she was merely seven. He was as crusty as they get, and while he and his friends often joked about how gross the old thing was, she happily scratched behind his ears and reminded him of how good he was always.

But the dog was getting old, and JJ had long been extracted from her life. Sometimes he wondered if his prayers meant something, and then he would get on his knees and take them all back in a guilty sob. Because JJ didn’t want her to die, he just hated the fact that he had fallen in love with someone who couldn’t fathom love more than he ever doubted it.

JJ felt like an asshole. What kind of person prays for another persons death? Especially someone like her?

He figured he liked her so much because they were so alike. Like the seasons, they were the coolest winters and the sweltering summer all at once. They were so close, yet so far. Like January and December. Born with the same love and loyalty, but destined to fall apart, prophets forced to be divided.

His finger hovered over her contact every night, but every time he thought of how she would answer, and his tongue would go dry. She would probably only say hello, and he would say it back, and the line would go quiet for a few minutes, just breathing in each others inhales, aligning his breath to hers, and then she would ask him why he was calling. He would say he didn’t know, but he hoped she was well, and she would wish the same for him because she always did, and she always meant it more because she never wished that he was dead. Then, she would ask if it was okay to let him go, and he would ramble about something and how it was all dumb to begin with. She would listen and then the line would go dead. Dead like how he sometimes wanted her.

He couldn’t bear the idea of letting her go again, even if he didn’t realize he had the first time.

They had just gotten matching tattoos. “P4L” poked into their ankles until the skin swelled red and even air burned. They were fucked, and it was a dumb idea.

JJ said it was the stupidest fucking tattoo he’d ever gotten. She had laughed, playfully pushing his arm away and setting the needle down.

“You don’t have any other tattoos.” She reminded him softly, eyes shining in the moonlight. The twinkles reminded him of the north star, and he felt that he too found home in the same way.

“Not yet.” He promised her, his fingers slotting between hers. “I’m gonna get your name tattooed right across my palm so I can hold you eternity.” JJ smiled, proud at his use of larger words. He’d felt like a poet then, smiling from ear to ear at himself, a dork by textbook definition.

“Well, then I’m going to get your name tattooed on my lips, so I have every reason to talk about you.” She promised him, and JJ remembered the look in her eyes, he knew it from the way John B looked at Sarah and the way Pope’s dad looked at his mom. He knew it was love.

He should never have confessed it.

He knew better than anyone that her mothers neglect had beaten her heart black and blue, and her cousins hatred towards her and her friends who had bullied her, he knew that much like him, love was a construct of some sort of fantasy, a promise of forever that could never be fulfilled, because eventually, someone has to leave.

She laughed, and then she cried. She promised JJ that she also loved him, loved him like a dog loved its owner, unwavering and loyal. But there was no way in hell she could ever love him the ways he wanted, and that hurt JJ because he had spent weeks working up the courage to even come to terms with his very real feelings.

“I can’t love you, JJ. I do, but I can’t because I can’t even promise myself that forever. I’ll break my own heart and I’ll blame you.” She had explained with tears streaming down her face. He regretted the way he yelled at her.

They never spoke again. His best friend, and the love of his life, her voice became a concept in his mind, and he swore that he had forgotten the sweetness of her smell. He hated that because that meant he was just like everyone else. Just another person who would miss her when she went.

So, he started wishing death on her. More for himself, until it became a prayer for her. She never laughed anymore, never smiled. When he saw her from afar, he’d noticed that she’d gone back to her friends she hated because suffering is better than loneliness when all you can think about is the quickest way to go.

He saw a girl floating in the ocean the a few days into the summer, her hair resembled Y/n’s and her eyes did too. It was only when he saw the way she seemed to fold herself into the water he knew it was her because only she would have the drive to try and let the ocean swallow her whole.

JJ ran as fast as he could out, wading through the crashing waves until he could wrap his arms around her. She was wet, cold, and limp. A hollow version of the woman she once was. It reminded JJ that she was just a girl, the same age as him, and he once again, felt guilty for ever wishing death on her.

When he laid her in the sand, he knew two things.

One, on her skin, she had another small tattoo scribbled down to memorize her love forever. His name, just two little letters, the same one, poked into her shoulder in the same font as their matching tattoo.

“Stupid fucking tattoo.” He cried, gritting his teeth together, his hands searching her body for any warmth he could cling to, a sign that maybe he hadn’t seen her too late.

The second thing he knew, through his salty tears and guilty heart, was something he prayed he would never have to witness, but something he had always wished for.

His prayers had been answered.